Duality
by incense and peppermints
Summary: Darry didn't go from brother to parent overnight. Chapter fic chronicling my take on this transition. On Hiatus.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns.

AN: This story is more of a character development story than plot specific. My number one goal is to explore Darry's transition from brother to parent, so expect lots of everyday Curtis bro interaction. Nothing too fluffy, though, I promise! Criticism is more than welcome throughout the piece, and I sincerely hope you enjoy reading as much as I've enjoyed writing it. :)

* * *

Three weeks since the funeral… Has it really been three? If I hadn't counted the days I wouldn't know. Time accelerates and slows at the same time.

It skyrockets when I sleep. The second I hit the pillow, my eyes bolt back open, ready to begin the next exhausting day. I can't rest enough these days. Whether it's three or nine hours, I'm sleep deprived, and work becomes a slow, tedious monotony.

My coworkers ain't much for company. Most have been here too damn long; they either talk to each other or mind their own business, and I spend my time focused on my task. It's a simple process. Pick up a nail, align it, hammer it in, grab a new one. Repeat._ Clink. Clink. Clink._ The sound of metal against metal and splitting creak of wood assaults your ears after a while, especially when the dull task allows too much time to think. Thinking always was my downfall. When I was little, Mom always said she spent all her time trying to get me to worry less and Soda to worry more.

I wish I had Soda's attitude about life. These days, I worry more. I spend my work hours stewing over how I'm going to _parent_ my brothers. Being a brother is easy. Being bossy is easy too. But putting two and two together? What makes being a being a bossy, older brother different from being a parent? I wish I knew. I don't even know where to begin.

The uncertainty overwhelms me. If I tell them they're grounded, will they take me seriously? If I raise my voice, will they listen? Or will they just tease me for being bossy like they always have?

So far I haven't had to get mean, but it's only been three weeks. The inevitable slip up will happen, and bam, I become the bad guy.

"_Shit," _I cuss under my breath_._ A heartbeat bulges in my thumb, and I toss the hammer down for a second, pulling my hand away from the shingle. Third missed nail this week, and my thumb will transform into a throbbing shade of purple if I don't pull it together soon.

"You alright there, Junior?" Jerry asks, a small cackle escaping his lips.

Jerry's called me Junior since the day I showed up on shift with my old man. I still remember that awkward day. It was only a few months ago, and no matter how hard I've worked to prove my worth as a roofer since, the veteran employees mutually agree my dad sweet-talked the boss into giving me a job.

"I'm fine," I tell Jerry before I forget to reply. Can't say much for the others, but Jerry's alright, I guess. Gritty personality, rough around the edges, but he respects me more than the rest. Whether to honor my late father or because he truly is that kind of person, I don't know, but I appreciate it.

I take a deep breath. _Focus, damn it, focus_.

I align another nail, hammer it in without hitting my thumb, and pause to wipe the sweat off my brow. Before I can pick up a new nail, time is called for the day, and the boss barks at everyone to go home. Four o'clock is an early time to quit, but I can thank my lucky stars for the looming, gray storm clouds. It hardly rains in Oklahoma, but when it does, we cover the current work with tarp and split.

I welcome early dismissal with open arms, bolting off site faster than anybody else.

xxxx

When I get home, mess greets me.

Ever since the night of the accident, the house has gone from messy to a goddamned catastrophe in record time. I never thought I'd say it, but it's as bad as Two-Bit's place, and it sets me off more than usual.

A small wave of anger surges through me, demanding I do something about the chaos now, while the house is still standing.

I run a hand through my hair and shake my head, wondering endlessly how Mom kept it clean. _How_? 'Cause I sure as heck don't know. Keeping my half of the room I share with Soda organized ain't a problem. His half is well… revolting, but I learned to ignore it years ago, just like I've applied the same philosophy to the entire house. For these three weeks I've come home from work disgruntled as hell to see every last inch of our home in disarray, but I ignored it. I don't know how to remedy it. I don't. Not even with my frustration at a tipping point.

We're three teenage boys for Christ's sakes. I'll be twenty in less than a month, but the point is clean is _not_ in our general nature. And that's just the three of us who live here full time. Don't get me started on Two-Bit, Steve, Dally, and Johnny. They contribute their fair share. Maybe even more.

I sigh and remember how I once thought Mom complained too much. Man, am I an idiot for thinking that now. In my defense, it sounded like a legitimate thing to whine about at the time. We did as she told us, Dad included; we even learned to do it when she wasn't delegating tasks, but I guess that attitude didn't stick with us. Everything looks different now. It was immaculate with her around, and now… I try not to think about it.

I understand why she called us slobs now.

_Here goes nothing_, I think, taking a few steps forward. The turmoil glares back at me as I survey the damage in the living room. Food wrappers and crumbs everywhere, clutter _everywhere._ Social Services'll think I'm a lousy guardian if we don't act soon.

Soda claps hand against my back. "Shoot, Darry, you look deep in thought…"

"Astounded," I correct him. "Appalled … disgusted … D, all of the above."

He gives me a baffled look. "Why?"

I point to one of the room's corners and glide my finger through the air to the other. "This," I say, stabbing my finger at the mess once again. "This is … holy _shit_, how did we let it get this bad?"

Soda shrugs. "It ain't that bad…"

I give him a light knock upside the head, and he starts laughing. "Hey, I'm just kiddin'," he says. "I'll help ya clean it."

"You better," I imitate in my best "Mom" tone. Boy, did she _ever_ know how to make us listen with one simple shift in her voice. Something tells imitation will prove useful to me. If I intend to get their attention, I might have to resort to it. "And go grab Pony," I add. "He helped make the mess too."

Soda salutes me and rushes to find Pony, and when he returns, the three of us piece through the disaster.

xxxx

After what feels like hours, the place is finally clean. Almost too clean, except for one room.

_Mom and Dad's. _

We don't dare set foot in there. At least I don't. I ain't sure about my brothers, but I assume not.

Every time I brave walking near it, the wooden floorboards creak like something out of a horror film, and with each passing step, the ground seems to crumble beneath my feet.

But today, everything must be clean, including that room.

Feet locked firmly in place, I reach for the knob. The door is slammed shut, screaming out a plea for privacy, but it makes no difference. They're not here. They're not home. No one is in that room.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. If anyone can feign keeping it together, it's me. I'm skilled at it—didn't shed a single tear at the funeral, but every time I see this door, it's a challenge.

_Get ahold of yourself, Darrel, _I tell myself and cringe at the thought of my name. Darrel… Goddamned that name. When I was thirteen, I demanded people quit calling me Darry because it sounded immature, but now I wish everyone would flip back to my nickname.

Darry is the only name I can stomach hearing. Darrel, Darrel Jr., anything junior; they sound wrong now, but it's only a name.

_Keep it together, damn it, don't freak out over a stupid name. _

Hand still on the knob, I push a foot forward and cringe at the long, drawn out creak. Braving the thirteen steps down the hallway sucks the life right out of me. Who'd have thought the football star, boy of the year, would struggle with the simple task of walking? Don't tell my brothers about that… Don't anybody tell my brothers that. They need to think I'm A-Okay, 110% in control, no operator error in this endeavor. No room for operator error; the one thing I can't screw up is them.

I can screw up endless times as long as they make it to eighteen alive and well, and so far, I'm doing alright. No one seems to know I'm screaming myself hoarse on the inside trying to be a parent. My internal commentary always tells me I'm doing it wrong. Say this. Say that. Do as your mother says… Well, goddamn it, she's dead.

I can only regurgitate her infamous sayings now. Boy, did she have a lot of them and an endless supply of tricks up her sleeves to keep us boys in line, but her words, they ain't enough. My voice never carries the way hers could… It's always a scream when I try to put my foot down no matter how many times I insist I'll keep my cool, and the worst part is, I haven't _had _to put my foot down yet.

Being near this room makes me feel like a nutcase. Each time I about lose it, each time I fight the dread and inch closer and closer to that knob, but without fail, I shy away. It's too much. The whole house may be mine now, but that room is still theirs. Everything untouched, I haven't opened the door since the day I shut it the night of the funeral… The mental image flashes. The bed unmade. Dad's dirty work clothes lying on the ground, something Mom'd surely reprimand him for. Pictures, countless pictures. Mom always like pictures, and they hang everywhere, on the walls, on her dresser, on the back of the door…

_Just do it, Darry. Do it._

My hand turns the cold metal until the door swings upon, and the mental image reappears before my eyes. Same, same, same, like they still live here, like that accident never happened. I lurch forward and swoop down to pick up Dad's work clothes. I'll clean everything as fast as I can and hightail it out of there, but as I fold Dad's clothes atop the dresser, I can't help but notice this is abnormal. Mom normally wouldn't be caught dead leaving the bed unmade even on the busiest of mornings, but there the sheets lie tangled. Perhaps it was a sign something bad would happen that day.

Biting down on my lip, I pull the sheets up and straighten them until they're even, and when I finish, I exit as quickly as I came, not bothering to look back.

This is ridiculous, being afraid of a goddamned room like this, but I am. I'm petrified of that room. Thank God my brother's haven't suggested I sleep in there yet. That'd be asking too much. Logically it makes sense to give myself my own room, but not their room, not this soon.

I jiggle the knob to ensure the door is shut and walk away, praying my brothers didn't witness my mental breakdown.

Sometimes I think I should've cried at the funeral. I should've let everything go, because now I don't know how. The frustration just builds and builds, and some day it'll explode, but not today. Today I've conquered my emotions.

As I scurry towards the kitchen, I silently vow to worry only about my stomach, and not what I saw in their room.

"I'll make dinner!" Soda volunteers, as though he read my mind.

I exchange glances with Pony. Does Soda know _how_ to cook? Pony shakes his head, as if to say "tell him no before he blows the entire house up", but Soda's grinning like an idiot, like he already has a plan.

The look in his eye scares me, but I ain't the best cook myself. The kitchen was Mom's baby. She let Dad grill steaks sometimes and taught us boys how to make cake, but she didn't give up her meal-making prowess easily.

"Soo?" Soda prompts me when I'm silent too long.

"I guess," I resign, hoping it ain't a mistake.

"So that's a yes?" he asks.

"Yeah, but be careful," I tell him. "We just cleaned." It's not a suggestion, it's an order, but the second I give that okay he bolts to the cupboards and pulls out all sorts of ingredients.

Pony turns to me, staring apprehensively and fiddling with his pockets.

I give him a few moments to start talking, but the silence gets to me. "What's goin' on?"

He glances up briefly, pulls a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket and hands it to me. "You're supposed to sign it," he says, shifting his eyes back to the floor.

I give him a funny look and unfold it. "Detention?" I ask him. "You got detention?"

My first instinct is to tease him for getting his first detention, but then I groan, remembering I can't be his brother anymore. I actually have to get pissed about this? He's a good kid… It was probably one of the dumb teacher's faults, not his.

"You angry?" he asks me, and I hate the nervous look on his face. He looks as though he's truly afraid of what I might do, and I can't stand that.

"No, but I'd like you to explain a little." I cross my arms and lift an eyebrow. "This ain't like you, is it?" I say a silent prayer that sounds like a decent enough lecture.

He shakes his head. "I'll try not to be late for his class again," he says.

"So that's all this is about?" I question. "He gave you detention for being late?" I can't say I was late for class myself, but it seems like a stupid reason to give a detention. Unless it's happening every day, I guess, but I expected something much worse.

I pick a pen off the counter, sign it quickly, and hand it back to him. "Don't be late again," I tell him. "If you get another detention, I'll ground you." I debate whether or not threatening to ground him was too much, but I have to stay stern or they'll both walk all over me.

He nods, and I heave an internal sigh of relief.

I just dodged the first bullet of reprimanding my kid brother. Only thousands more to go.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns.

* * *

Meals were important to Mom. If we went and played with the other neighborhood kids, she gave strict orders to be back by dinnertime. She insisted we eat as a family every night, no matter who whined about it, even Dad, and though it annoyed me as a teenager, I missed it now … all of us eating together and talking about how our days went. I had to admit it was nice.

You weren't allowed to leave the table until you said something about your day. That was Dad's rule. He hated silence as much as Soda does maybe even more, but it was good for us. Unlike some of my friends, I liked my parents.

Lately dinner is quiet. We never talk to each other. For the first week, we barely touched our food either. Now we may clean our plates, but it's in silence, and when we're finished, we dismiss ourselves without a word. Even Soda is quiet, and that's eerie. Maybe we all remember what supper used to be like and can't get used to the new normal...

I don't know about my brothers, but I feel bad for every time I wanted to hang out with my friends instead of come home on time. As a kid, family dinners seemed boring and unnecessary, but I drug myself home when Mom called whether I wanted to or not; listening was easier than sitting through one of her lectures. She never had to lay a hand on us. All she had to do was say she was disappointed, and I can guarantee any rebellion in you died at that moment. I don't know how she did it, but it worked on Dally too. With one look, she could level him faster than anyone else I knew.

"Food's ready." Soda carries three plates of food over to the table, balancing two plates on one arm.

"Be careful," I tell him, eying the wobbling plate. "Maybe you should carry one at a time."

"I'm fine." In an effort to annoy me, he jogs the rest of the way. My blood pressure jumps, sensing disaster, but by some miracle, he doesn't spill anything.

"Jesus, Soda, that was lucky."

He flashes a smug grin and pushes a plate in front of me and Pony. "I knew what I was doin'."

I stare at whatever he set in front of us. It smells like spaghetti, but all I see are globs of blue noodles. I raise an eyebrow at him, but he only smirks and starts devouring every morsel on his plate.

Pony and I remain still. It may smell edible, but it sure as heck doesn't look it… I pick up my fork and piece through it, wondering what in the world would've possessed Soda to make it blue. Soda has an affinity for doing strange things, but this is a little weird even for him. Pony must agree with me; he squints at the food suspiciously, twirling a small ball of noodles on his fork to examine it. "Umm, Soda… what is it?"

"Yeah, little buddy," I agree. "Pony took the words right out of my mouth."

Soda glances up from his plate and gives us both a funny look. "Spaghetti… " He shakes his head, as though the answer was supposed to be obvious, and goes back to his food.

_Blue_ spaghetti? I give him a puzzled look, but he's too busy eating to notice.

"Why blue?" Pony asks.

Soda shrugs. "Why not?"

"Because … spaghetti ain't blue," I add. Glory, it can't taste good blue.

Soda shakes his head at us again. "It is when I make it."

Pony sighs, and I watch on as he braves his first bite. Soda loves it, but Soda also put syrup on his eggs once and can never be trusted on how something tastes again. He and Steve were always trying to one up each other in food contests to see who could eat the most bizarre combination. Ketchup on cereal… Chocolate syrup on French fries… I'd seen them eat countless crazy things, so needless to say, I wouldn't touch blue spaghetti until Pony gave it a thumb's up.

"Tastes good," Pony tells me after a few bites.

"Alright then." I shove a small amount in my mouth, expecting something sweet. Soda's known for sneaking sugar into everything, but it tastes like spaghetti. If I close my eyes and pretend it's a normal color, I might be able to handle this. "Wow," I say, surprised I find myself liking it a few moments later. "That actually tastes pretty good, Soda."

"See?" Soda grins. "It tastes better blue!"

"Hate to tell ya, Soda," Pony says, "but I don't think food coloring changes the flavor."

"Yeah, if anything it'd make it taste worse," I add.

Soda points to our plates. "Well, you're both eating it."

"Yeah, well, next time, keep it its normal color," I grumble. Dying everything a weird color seems like it could wind up expensive. He had to use a _lot_ of blue coloring to make it this blue, and that just seems unnecessary. "Besides," I continue, "we're all gonna have blue lips and tongues after this… People'll think we're short on oxygen if they see us…"

Soda sticks his blue tongue out at me. His mouth is already blue, and if we got into a food fight, surely we'd look like smurfs.

"You know, Darry, you sound just like Mom right now," Soda says, shoveling more food into his mouth.

"Yeah?" I lift an eyebrow. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"You sure do," Soda insists. "Mom always shooed me outa the kitchen 'cause she didn't like it when I tried to drop food coloring in whatever she was makin'… I drove her crazy!"

"I remember that." Pony sets his fork down for a second. "I remember one Thanksgiving you put a drop of red food coloring in her gravy when she wasn't lookin', and she threw it out 'cause she thought she ruined it."

They both laugh, and I feel stupid because I have no clue what they're talking about. If it was Thanksgiving, I was probably too busy talking about the upcoming football game with Dad, but the smiles across their lips tell me it was a good memory for both of them. And even though I don't remember the story, it's nice to hear them laugh and talk about Mom. In fact, I think it marks the first time any of us have mentioned our folks in a conversation since the accident. There were a few times I thought about it, but I held back, afraid it might stir up our emotions. Now it seems like a silly worry. We can't go the rest of our lives never talking about them, especially when we think about them all the time.

I shift my eyes back to the blue noodles and take another bite, suddenly glad it's blue. Crazy idea or not, it was Soda's blue spaghetti that made us talk, and even better that it could be about our parents.

I try to remember that when the blue doesn't wash off the plates nicely.

xxxx

When the dishes are done and put away, Soda and Pony settle themselves in front of the TV. I join them, watching the first few minutes of a Lassie rerun.

"You guys get your homework done?" I know I sound like a broken record, but I'm damn certain Soda lies when he says he's done it.

"No homework tonight." That's a new, but not unheard excuse. Every time I ask, it's always done or there isn't any.

Soda kicks his feet up on the coffee table, and my ears wait for Mom's reprimand that never comes. I sigh. I could reprimand him myself, but I never liked that rule either.

"You sure, little buddy?" I press. Feet on the table ain't a big deal, but if our social worker looks at his grades … well, that could be problematic. "Pony's done all kinds of homework, but I ain't seen you pick up a pencil in weeks."

He shrugs. "I get it all done at school."

"Hey, that ain't fair," Pony whines. "You're in high school. You should have _more_ than me…"

"Yeah, Soda," I agree. "I always had at least an hour a night when I was in your grade…"

"You callin' me a liar, Darry?" he asks curtly. "'Cause I ain't got any."

"Soda," I warn.

"What?"

"Don't get mouthy."

"I ain't gettin' mouthy," he says, but it's in one hell of a mouthy tone. "That's the honest to God truth."

"You can tell the truth and still be mouthy about it," I inform him. "I don't appreciate it."

"Well, I don't appreciate you not trusting me."

I hate to resort to threats, but damn it, he's asking for it. "Then I guess you'll have no problems with me callin' your teachers, huh?"

"Go ahead, I ain't a liar," he grumbles, but his voice falters, confirming my suspicions.

"Okay then." I glare at him, frustrated I'll actually have to carry out my threat now. I should be more irritated with him, and I _am,_ but there's something screwed up about calling the teachers who taught you not even three years ago about your little brother's grades.

Those grades better be C's. I know he's not as book smart as me and Pony, but he ain't stupid. Like Mom always said, he'd be amazed at the results if he applied himself.

"Darry, I did all my homework," Pony says, looking at me like he expects me to jump on his case next. "You can even go look if you don't believe me."

"I believe you," I tell him, but he doesn't seem to believe me. "Honest, Pony, I do," I repeat once more, wondering where and how I'd freaked him out since our folks died. He's been walking on eggshells ever since, and the only thing I can think of was snapping at him for bouncing his feet obnoxiously on the drive home from the funeral. I didn't mean to get short with him, but my nerves were shot that day.

Shit, we were all upset, and I thought he'd have forgotten about it by now.

I get up and wander back to the kitchen, prepared to make a phone call.

As soon as I'm out of eyeshot, they start talking to each other, and when I hear my name, I inch close to the wall to eavesdrop.

I hear Pony's voice first. "Do you think Darry would really ground me?"

"Probably," Soda replies. "I'll bet he's gonna call my teachers now, so I'd say he would…"

"But … he's our brother." I groan at how confused Pony sounds. Yeah, I may be their brother, but I'm their guardian too now, and how'm I supposed to discipline them if I can't ground them? I ain't about to hit him, so he better get used to hearing the words "You're grounded" every so often.

"Don't worry about it," Soda tells him. "It'll be no different than when Mom and Dad grounded you… You know, no going anywhere 'cept school. Maybe if you're _real_ bad, no TV."

"Yeah, I guess so."

They fall silent, and I shake my head, half tempted to run out there and tell them they better believe I'd ground either of them, but then they'd know I was listening to their conversation, so I hold back. I guess they'll find out I mean it when it happens for the first time…

Running a hand through my hair, I make my way towards the phone again and pick up the receiver, but when my finger goes to dial a number, I realize I don't know any of his teachers' phone numbers. "Goddamn it," I mumble under my breath and smack my fist against the wall, lightly so they can't hear me.

I probably looked silly walking into the kitchen now. Hopefully Soda doesn't think I won't make that phone call… First thing tomorrow, I'll call the school. Better yet, maybe I should just show up at the school. That oughta freak Soda into listening to me.

"Darry?"

I turn and Soda's standing right in front of me, looking towards his feet. "Yeah?" I ask.

"Sorry I got mouthy." He looks up for a second. "It's just …" he trails off and shakes his head.

"It's just what, Soda?" I ask, taking a step closer to him.

"It's just weird," he finishes. "I dunno. I ain't used to you getting on my case like that."

I put a hand on his shoulder and sigh. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I ain't used to it either…"

"Didn't seem like it," he tells me. "Seems like you're good at it."

I take my hand off his shoulder and rub my forehead. "Honest, I don't know if that's supposed to be a compliment or an insult, little buddy."

He smirks. "Compliment, for sure."

He claps a hand against my back and walks away, leaving me to wonder about what he said.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns, I borrow.

* * *

Forehead pressed firmly into the palms of my hands, I sit at the kitchen table and analyze every word Soda told me. This can't be healthy, but it's bothering me something awful. I should be glad; if he thinks I'm good at getting on his case, that's a great sign, right? Half the trouble is done for me, and I've been needlessly worrying they won't listen to me. Only problem is I don't want them to forget I'm still their brother.

I ain't ready to be the bad guy. When Mom and Dad were around, I was the cool one, the one they could confide in and rest assured I wouldn't rat them out. Maybe if they were really stupid, I'd tell them off myself, but I never tattled; that much they could depend on, but now it was different. They'd be confiding in each other, and keeping it secret from _me_. Part of me thought I should keep playing it cool. Never get mad, no secrets between us, just a giant free for all. They're good kids; they couldn't get themselves in too much trouble, but then thinking about my parents stops me. They hand-picked me to be my brothers' guardian. They could've picked Grandpa Fred or Aunt Betty, but they picked me.

I still remember the day Dad asked me. Exactly one month and three days before they died, he sat me down, telling me he had to talk to me about something real important; I didn't know what to expect, but I was shocked when he told me he was changing his will to list me as Soda and Pony's guardian.

I agreed, no questions asked. It was only worst case scenario, and worst case scenario, I didn't want my brothers shipped off to anyone else. I was old enough; I was trustworthy; like Dad said, I was the perfect candidate. So I agreed wholeheartedly on principle alone, and a month later, it actually happened.

Imagine my shock. I thought about my decision a lot after that, wondered what would've happened if I said no. It's scary to think our entire future rested on me saying yes, and I don't detract it. This is where my brothers belong—with me—but I'm scared out of my goddamned mind I'm gonna screw this up. I'm not even twenty yet, but then I remind myself twenty was how old my folks were when they had me. If they could do it, I guess I can.

Still, I was a baby, and my brother are teenagers now. The teen years are the hardest to raise—that's why you get thirteen years of experience under your belt before they happen, but I was thrown into this headfirst. I'm technically still a teenager myself...

"Darry?"

I pull my hands away from my face and look up to see Soda again. "What?"

"You should come watch TV with Pony an' me," he says. "You look awful lonely here."

I sigh, flattered Soda's concerned about my loneliness, but I need time to myself, time to think. "I'm alright," I tell him.

"You sure?" He gives me a uneasy look that almost makes me reconsider, but I shake my head and tell him no.

He gives me another look as he leaves, one that says he's unto me and will pester me about what's bothering me later. I don't hope so. He frustrates me with the way he can read people. Sometimes I don't want to be read, especially not that easily.

"Soda," I call after him.

"Change your mind?" he asks with a smirk.

"No."

"Then what?"

"It's getting late," I say, glancing at the clock over the kitchen sink to be sure I didn't imagine the jump in time. "One hour 'til you two gotta go to bed." After the words leave my lips, I prepare myself for the backlash.

"Aw, man, ten o'clock? That's early..." he complains. "I think midnight sounds fair."

I scowl. I expected this, but it doesn't make it easy to listen to. Honest, I wouldn't give a shit what time they went to be if I didn't have to get up early. I need them to go to bed so I can go to bed without wondering what kind of havoc they'll wreak when I'm asleep. I understand what Dad meant about being the last one to go to bed now. He always waited up in the living room, doing the crossword puzzle in the newspaper until all of us kids were fast asleep.

"So midnight it is?" Soda pushes.

Apparently my scowl didn't get the point across. "I think 9:30 sounds fair if you wanna argue," I say in the most authoritative tone I can muster.

I almost hope he argues with me so I can go to bed sooner, but he concedes. "Yeah, ten is fine," he says, walking away again. "I'll tell Pony."

"Thanks, Soda," I say, and I mean it. _Thank you_ for not pushing me into being a jerk again.

He salutes me and exits for the living room. When he informs Pony, I hear another sigh and wonder if this will be a trend. I guess, this is the first night I enforced them going to bed on time. I should've started earlier, considering how exhausted I've been, waiting up for them to fall asleep.

Maybe I should enforce the little things more to get them used to the idea of listening to me. Might make my life easier in the long run, but I'm not sure.

I ain't sure of anything. Truth be told, I'm making it up as I go.

Sometimes I remember something Mom or Dad said to me, but even then, saying it with the same effect is a challenge.

xxxx

When I finally get to sleep, I only sleep two hours before I wake up to Pony screaming.

It wakes Soda too. I flip on the light, and he bolts out of our room. I trail behind, and by the time we reach Pony, Soda's already sitting on his bed asking about what happened.

I linger in the doorway and let Soda keep talking. "Hey Pony, what happened?" he asks again, wrapping his arms around Pony's shoulders and pulling him into a tight hug.

Pony says nothing, and I can't be sure, but I swear I see a tear roll down his cheek.

"Nightmare, huh?" Soda guesses.

Pony nods.

"You'll be okay," Soda assures him. "Whatever it was you're awake now."

I look on in shock. How does Soda do this? How does he know what to say? Whenever I try to comfort somebody, it feels awkward. I should've given them both a hug at the funeral or at least some time after it, but I didn't. I let them comfort each other and stood off to the sides with my hands shoved in my pockets.

Same thing I do now. Pony clings to Soda, and I keep observing. "Hey, Pony, you wanna glass of water or somethin'?" I ask, trying to make myself useful. The least I can do is offer something.

He shakes his head.

I move a few steps closer to him and take a seat on the edge of his bed. Soda's still handling the bulk of this, but I was useless just standing there.

"What was the dream about?" Soda asks.

"Yeah, what was it?" I join in, hoping to God he tells us. When he was a little kid, he had nightmares a lot, and I remember they came and went in phases. If this is the start of a new set, I should be up to speed on what's bothering him during his sleep...

"C'mon, Pony," Soda urges when we hear nothing. "You can tell us."

"The accident," Pony says, almost inaudible. "I … I don't wanna talk about it."

Soda hugs him tighter and rubs his back

"You don't have to," I tell him, trying to offer something reassuring.

Soda helps Pony lie down, ruffles his hair, and turns to me. "You can go back to sleep, Darry," he says. "I'll stay with him."

"You … you sure?" I ask, scratching my head. I'm the guardian. I should be the one comforting Pony in these kinds of situations, but I can't pass up the offer. Soda is better at it than me anyway.

"Yeah, you gotta work tomorrow," he tells me. "Go sleep or I'll worry about you too."

"Okay..." I get up and walk closer to Pony.

I suck in a breath and kneel down for a second. "Hey, you'll be okay, kid." I stroke his hair once and stand up. "Soda'll stay with you, and it'll be morning before you know it."

"Okay, Darry," he says quietly, and I start walking away.

A few feet out the door, I turn back and sigh.

Soda told me to go, but I still feel like a jerk for leaving.

xxxx

I lie awake for hours. It's a cool night, but I toss and turn in my own sweat, worrying about Ponyboy, praying this doesn't become a nightly trend.

I remember all too well how bad they were when he was little. Mom used to make herself sick when they happened. That was how she was when any of us were ill or otherwise hurting; knowing her, she probably worried about us as she took her last breath.

The wind howls outside, and I focus best I can on my breathing. I need to sleep. I need to quit thinking... Pony is fine. Soda is fine. I'm fine. We're all fine.

I repeat this to myself hundreds of times before I finally drift off.

xxxx

When I wake up, I realize I overslept by three hours. "Goddamn it," I grumble and shuffle to get my work clothes on. Forget about breakfast and packing a lunch; I need to get to work as fast as I can.

I race out of the room and stop dead in my tracks when I see Pony and Soda sitting on the couch. "Why the hell ain't you guys in school?" I run a hand through my hair. My voice is already a yell. "And how come one of you didn't wake me up?"

I glare at them both for an answer. Pony shifts his gaze towards the floor, and Soda approaches me, an annoyed look on his face. "Pony had a rough night, so we're staying home," he says firmly.

I ball a fist and shake my head. "You can't just stay home 'cause he had a nightmare!"

"Darry, calm down."

"Don't you dare tell me to calm down." I grab a fistful of his shirt and shake it in my hand. "Even if you guys were staying home, and for the record, I would've_ never_ said yes to that, one of you could've still woken me up!"

"You looked exhausted. I called and told your boss you were sick."

"You _what_?" I cuff him upside the head, and he shoves me back.

Pony stares on wide-eyed.

"Goddamn it, Soda," I yell. "You can't just do that without askin' me."

"Well, what am I supposed to do Darry?" he asks. "Watch you beat yourself into the ground? I don't think so!"

"You'll do whatever I tell you because I'm your guardian!" I stare him down, but he doesn't back off.

"Not if it's stupid," he insists "Listen, Darry, it's been three weeks and you already look like a zombie..."

I shove my hands in my pockets. "So..."

"So maybe I should drop out and get a job to help," he says, and the look in his eyes tells me he's dead serious about

"You wouldn't dare." I grit my teeth and fight the urge to deck him. "You stay in school. That's an order! Like hell, you're dropping out … I swear to God, Soda—"

"You can't do this to yourself!"

"I can too." I point a finger at him and then Pony. "You two are going to school for the second half of the day. Get moving."

"Darry," Soda starts.

"If you argue about it, you're both grounded."

"Well, I guess I'm grounded then," Soda snaps back. "'Cause I'm stayin' right here, and you can ground me twice as long, 'cause I'm making Pony stay here with me."

I grumble and take a deep breath, trying to keep from screaming. "How does a month sound to you?"

"You could make it two for all I care."

"Soda!" Pony shakes his head at him from the couch. "Stop it.."

Soda runs a hand over his face and sighs. "Listen, Darry," he says, his voice a tad calmer. "I'm just tryin' to help... You can't do this all on your own. Let me _help_."

My first instinct is to holler my head off again, but I pause, closing my eyes for a second, trying to process what he'd said. "Fine," I say. "You can stay home today, but you ain't dropping out."

"But—"

"Don't make me change my mind," I growl back.

They both fall silent, exchanging telling glances with each other. I know what they're thinking—that I'm overreacting or some bullshit like that.

I grab my keys off the kitchen counter and storm out. I make it halfway to work before I realize I can't go.

No thanks to Soda, I'm _sick_ today.

I slap my fist against the steering wheel and head back home.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns.

* * *

Red and blue flash behind me and a dreaded siren wails.

_Shit. _

I close my eyes for a split second, exhale deeply, and garner the courage to pull over. It's tempting to keep driving like I'm above the law, but I know that's stupid.

I pull the truck over and run my hands down my face. The officer's taking his sweet time to get out of his car, and in my current frustration, I decide it must be on purpose. Maybe this is how he gets his kicks, watching the people he pulls over squirm until he finally puts them out of their misery. It has to be boring paroling the streets all day. I can't say I blame him.

Ages later, he stands next to my truck, and I crank the window down to meet my fate, which'll be a speeding ticket. Pretty damn sure of it.

"You know how fast you were going back there, Sir?" he asks, his forehead crinkling as he speaks. An older gentleman, he probably thinks I'm part of America's problem youth. He has that look about him. He'll probably be a grumpy old man who whines his grandkids play their rock music too loud someday if he isn't already.

I curl my lip under my teeth and try to think; if I had to guess I'd say I was going five over. I stay under five over as a general rule. I always thought within five, you're safe; anything over five, expect a ticket. I live by that rule. It worked for Dad, so it works for me. If I tell him that, will I sound facetious?

Not answering ain't an option, so I spit something out, "Five over?"

"Looked a little faster than that, son." The officer shakes his head; according to him I'm one of the problem youth now. I grimace at being called "son"—hearing it makes me realize how young I truly am.

"License and registration please," he requests. I fish my license out of my pocket and dig for the registration certificate in the glove compartment. _Please be there. _That was always something Dad took care of. I have no idea if it's actually in there.

I breath a sigh of relief when I find it and hand it over along with my license. He glances over it once, and I watch as he walks back to his car, about to write me that damn ticket.

It's official. My first traffic violation ever, and it probably all could've been avoided if I'd woken up on time. Damn it, damn it, _damn it_.

Awful tempting to blame Soda too, but it ain't his responsibility to get me up, ain't his fault I didn't hear my alarm clock sound. Still, he had to go and tell Pony he could stay home from school, and honest, I'm frustrated enough about that to blame him for the whole morning, even if I know it's unfair.

It ain't very guardian-like, more brother-like, but he is my damn brother, and he's annoying me like a pesky little brother does. Shouldn't this be a two-way street? I do my part, and he respects my authority? Something like that at least. Glory, I don't know.

I quit thinking about it. The more I do, the more frustrated I'll get with him, and he doesn't need me to explode no more than I want to. The only thing it'd accomplish is us butting heads more. We were next to best friends before the accident. Actually we got along famously until last night. Perhaps I'm overreacting 'cause I'm used to butting heads with Pony. Not that I fight with him often either, but if I'm going to be irritated with one of my brothers, it's usually not Soda.

The officer returns and hands me my license, vehicle registration and a beauty of a ticket notice. I grab all three at the same time and set them on the passenger side of the seat. I'll look at the damage later. "Thanks," I say. Seems silly to thank the man who just gave you a fine, but that's polite, right?

"Keep a closer eye on that speedometer," he instructs me, pointing to the car dashboard. "And try to have a better day."

I nod to that and grit my teeth as soon as he's out of eyesight. _Try to have a better day. _If that doesn't sound condescending, I don't know what the hell does.

Yeah, I'll try alright. Thanks for the encouragement and thanks for the goddamned ticket.

I sigh and tell myself to stay positive. Ups and downs. That's what this year is gonna be.

Today is a down. If I keep my chin up, tomorrow'll be an up. Maybe even the rest of today.

xxxx

When I reach home, Pony and Soda are gone. All prior optimism leaves me. I check every room in the house twice to be 100% sure, but they are nowhere to be found. I panic.

Despite knowing they couldn't have gone far—maybe to a gas station to get a coke or just out for a walk in general—my brain jumps to the worst possible conclusions. After all, they sounded dead certain about staying home today. I thought that meant they planned to have a "take it easy" day, a day that wouldn't entail any stupid, childish plans. I could get on board with that. We've been running forward at full speed. Perhaps it's time to slow down and catch our breaths. Like Soda said, Pony had a rough night, and I don't doubt that, but now he's dragging him around town somewhere. That's supposed to help?

I feel guilty, realizing they probably would still be here if I hadn't left. Probably wouldn't have that speeding ticket either...

I shove a hand through my hair. Soda probably assumed I wasn't coming back and thought he could pull another fast one on me. He scares me, that kid. He scares the goddamned crap out of me; how the hell am I supposed to parent somebody who doesn't refuses to be parented? I honest to God thought Pony would be the struggle, but I was wrong.

Three and a half years ain't much of an age difference between us. That's probably the problem. We were equals in the eyes of each other and before Mom and Dad. Pony looked up to both of us and admired both of us as his all-knowing older brothers, and Soda doesn't wanna give up sharing a place at the top of the totem pole. Hell, with Pony, he _is _the top. If we both had to get our little brother to do something, he'd win hands down any day, and I must admit I'm damn jealous. That skill could be useful to me.

I plop down on the couch, plant my elbows on my knees and shove my forehead into the palms of my hands. Do I stay here or do I look for them? That's the ultimate question. They probably ain't far. Maybe I could find them, but if I go, they might come back while I'm gone and flounce off to the next adventure before I seize an opportunity to stop them, so I wait.

xxxx

I wait damn near three hours, and I grow more and more frustrated. Me and Soda are gonna have one hell of a talk about things, even if we have to brawl it out, because if things continue the way they have the past twenty-four hours, this arrangement will go to shit.

When they finally get home, Soda looks surprised to see me. "I thought you were going to work."

"I thought you two were going to stay home," I tell him. "Thought you could get away with leavin' 'cause I wasn't gonna be here, huh?"

Soda grumbles something unintelligible, most likely a cuss word, and takes a step closer to me. "No, I thought fresh air might do Ponyboy good," he grumbles. "Jesus, Darry, what's with you?"

I refuse to answer that. I glare at him, and Pony shifts in the background nervously. "What's goin' on, guys?"

"Pony, go to your room," I say, more harshly than I intend.

"What'd I do?" he asks with the most perplexed look. "Why'm I in trouble?"

I sigh and run a hand through my hair. For God's sakes, _he_'s not the one in trouble... "You're not in trouble," I tell him, conscious not to sound mean or mad. "I just … wanna talk to Soda alone. Give us some privacy."

Pony gives me a look, the same look he gave me when we were kids and he wasn't old enough to do something yet.

"Please," I add, and without wasting a second more, he scurries off.

Soda watches him and then turns back to me, a disgusted look written all over his face. "So are you gonna yell at me now? Pony's gone now, go ahead."

Though it's tempting to throw a couple punches and scream an earful, I grit my teeth and focus on staying in control. "No," I say relatively calm. "I just wanna talk."

Soda rolls his eyes. "So talk then."

I toss my hands in the air, and a moment later, I realize I've started pacing.

Soda watches me. I can see it out of the corner of my eye, and I can practically feel his eyeballs burning holes into the back of my chest. "Stop it," I hiss at him.

"Stop what?"

"You honestly need me to spell this out for you?" I ask, shaking my head. "You attitude blows. Think Mom or Dad would let you talk to them the way you been talkin' to me?"

I pause and stare at him.

He looks me straight in the eye and says, "You're not Mom, and you're especially not Dad."

"Well, no shit!" I clench and unclench my fist. "I ain't tryin' to be. Just … Shit, Soda, you're drivin' me up a wall here."

"Well, you're drivin' me up an even bigger one." He glares at me, so much frustration in his face and tone. "You're gonna kill yourself at the rate you're goin', and maybe just maybe, I ain't okay with that. I'm tryin' to _help_ you."

"That's bullshit," I snap back. "Why the hell do you keep undermining me if you're tryin' to help me? How do you think that looks to Pony? How do you think that makes me look?"

"You wanna know what he thinks?"

His question halts me.

No, I don't want to know. I'm afraid to know. I'd rather keep yelling at Soda than face the truth, but curiosity gets the best of me. "What?"

"He thinks you're mad all the time," Soda says. "That's what he thinks, and honest, Darry, you look like it, so don't even think about arguing with me."

"I ain't mad at him," I insist. "So he's got nothing to worry about it."

"Don't matter if you are or not. Don't matter one bit. He thinks you are and that's all that matters."

"Well, that's … that's fuckin' stupid." I push a hand up to my hair and pull on the tiny strands slightly.

"Nope." Soda shakes his head. "C'mon, Darry, you know him. He thought he was in trouble too even if Mom was only chewing me out."

I sigh, at a lose for anything else to say. He's right, but I don't want to him to be.

"Let me help you out, alright?" Soda takes a few steps closer to me. "I'm sixteen. I ain't a little kid, so quit treating me like one."

"You'd help me more if you just listened," I say. "The way I see it you can help me out or make my life hell, and right now whatever you think is helping is doing the other."

"That's 'cause you won't let me help you."

"Bullshit, I let you help last night!"

"I'm not talkin' about that," he continues. "I'm talkin' about dropping out, getting a job, 'cause all you do is work and then you come home, and you're stressed, and I just think it would make all our lives easier if—"

"I already told you no," I cut him off before he can get another word in. "You are _not _droppin' out, and that is final."

"Darry..."

"No," I yell. "Hell no. I don't know what you think you're solvin' doin' that, but it won't solve a thing, so no!"

"It's only been three weeks, Darry," he says. "Three months, and you'll look thirty."

"And so what if I do." I grab ahold of his shoulders, my fingers digging into the sides of his arms. He has to see reason on this. He has to. If there was one thing Mom and Dad would not want, it's him dropping out. "Dropping out'll set a bad example to Pony. You're always so worried about him. Think of _him._"

"I _am_ thinkin' of him." Soda jerks his shoulders out of hands and glares at me. "Think he likes to see you like this any more than I do, hmm?"

"I'm fine," I insist. "I'd be better if you quit arguing."

"Too bad," Soda says. "I love you, man, but you're wrong about a lot of things."

"Well, you are too!"

"Yeah, and the difference between me and you is I at least know when I'm wrong." He starts walking away.

"Soda, get back here," I call back to him. "Where the hell do you think you're goin'?"

"To talk to Pony," he says. "He probably just heard every damn word we said, and he's gonna have questions."

I yell his name one more time, but he keeps going, slamming Pony's door behind him.

Four weeks ago I could've duked things out with Soda, and that seems so much easier than whatever the hell this is. We liked our good-natured fights, but now, they're a nightmare.

xxxx

An hour later, I sit outside on the porch, fiddling with a pack of Pony's cigarettes. Thirteen and he's smoking this much? I stare at the label—Kool's-and the longer I stare, the more I want one. It's been two years since I smoked a cigarette. I never liked the taste much, but I guess it calms your nerves okay.

Still, Pony shouldn't be doing it. Why Mom and Dad let him, I don't know, but how the hell am I supposed to enforce that when they said he could? Yeah, not happening, but he's cutting back. I'll find a way to make him do that.

"Hey, Darry."

Soda sits beside me and pats my back, like the fight we'd just had never happened.

I grumble. Maybe he's over it, but I'm not yet. "What?"

"Jesus, I'm just tryin' to apologize."

"Well, you can't keep doin' this," I tell him angrily. "You can't just act like an annoying little shit and then apologize like it's supposed to make it all better."

"Well, you can't go holdin' stupid grudges," he retorts. "I'd say we're even."

I sigh and count to ten silently in my head. That's what Mom told me to do when I was mad. I guess that's how she kept herself from really hollering at us... "Sorry," I say quietly. "It's just … you're drivin' me crazy."

"Hey, I drive a lot of people crazy," he says with a smirk. "Ask Steve how much I piss him off sometimes."

"Don't count. Everybody pisses him off."

Soda shakes his head. "Not like I do," he says. "I know him, so I can piss him off the best. Just like I know you. Face it, I know all the buttons to push."

"Then quit pushin' them."

"Hard not to. I'm your little brother, remember?" He sticks his tongue out at me and I shove him.

He shoves me right back.

"You okay, Darry?" he asks a moment later.

I sigh. Didn't expect him to ask _that _in the middle of a stupid argument. "I dunno, Soda," I say. I could lie to him, but he'd know I was lying anyway. "I don't know what the hell I'm doin'. I mean, you have a baby when you're my age, so you can be in your thirties when they're a teenager." I have no idea why the hell I'm telling him this. I'm _mad_ at him, damn it, but still I keep talking, and he keeps listening. "I just wish there were a set of rules or something... A manual, you know."

Soda puts a hand on my shoulder. "Well, we don't expect you to be perfect," he says. "Christ, Mom and Dad weren't even perfect..."

I know it's only been three week's and it's stupid to make unfair comparisons, but I can't help myself. They set the standard. They set the bar high. Regardless of what Soda says, deep down, they're both gonna want me to be like that. This would be so much easier if their father was Steve's dad or something.

"Okay, Darry, if you wanna be like Mom and Dad, try bein' more like Dad," Soda says.

I give him a funny look.

He keeps rambling. "Right now you're tryin' to be Mom, and you're not even a girl, so give it up."

I narrow my eyes. "I am _not_ tryin' to be a mother if that's what you're tryin' to tell me."

"No, I mean, worryin' about everything," he corrects himself. "Glory, she was an amazing mom, but she worried way too damn much."

"Well, maybe you and Dad don't worry enough," I say. "I happen to know you both drove her crazy."

"We sure did." He smiles like he's proud of it.

"But we had a lot of fun." He elbows me and winks. "Don't worry so much, Darry. You're doin' fine."

_Don't worry. Don't worry about anything_. Yeah, that's Sodapop's mantra for life, and sometimes it doesn't work out so well for him, but maybe this time he has a point.

A small one if that, but I'll try.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns.

* * *

I give Soda's philosophy a chance for a couple days, and it's awful.

Don't worry … accidentally hammer my thumb. Don't worry ... put off paying the speeding ticket. Don't worry … let the house get messy again. After so long, I can't take it anymore. My brain practically explodes and my hands itch to take care of everything I've blown off.

I do. I set aside an entire Saturday, get everything done, and finally sit at ease. At least for a few minutes.

These past few days, I'd try to ignore my head's racing inner monologue, but now that I've started paying attention again, it's running double-speed to make up for lost time.

I massage my temples, feeling a headache coming on. I drink black coffee to ward it off, and when that wears off, it throbs even worse.

Lucky for me, no one else is home, and I take a brief nap.

I wake up to the doorbell and begrudgingly pull myself to my feet to answer it.

I open to door to find Tim standing next to Pony. He's got my kid brother gripped by his upper arm and looks mighty hacked. "Tim? What's goin' on?"

"I caught this kid playin' chicken in my dipshit brother," he explains, glaring at Pony. "They were burnin' each other's damn fingers off."

I look at Pony. He's hiding his hand from my sight, so it must be true.

"Thought you might appreciate me bringin' him home," Tim adds, and I'm so focused on Pony I almost forget to thank him.

"Thanks," I say as sincerely as I can, pulling Pony from Tim's grip into the house. "I'll … I'll see you around, Tim."

He gives me a hard nod and storms off. Curly's gonna get his ass handed to him; I'd bet money on it, and I'm damn glad about that. Pony probably wouldn't have done this if Curly hadn't convinced him first. Still, Pony is definitely guilty. How stupid can you get?

I shut the door and turn to Pony. "Let me see your hand."

He shakes his head, keeping it tucked other his other hand and pulls away from me.

"Let me see your hand," I repeat with less patience, and he reluctantly holds it out.

I flip it over and get a good look at his forefinger. When I see the damage, my first thought to whack him upside the head. His finger is awfully burned, the skin pussy and charred in areas, but instead I drag him into the bathroom and dump antiseptic from the first aid kit Mom put together all over it.

He grimaces. "Daaarrry," he whines. I know it hurts it, but letting it get infected will hurt him even more.

"You want an infection?" I ask.

He shakes his head.

"Then shush," I add, beginning to wrap his finger in gauze. I try not to cause him more pain than he already caused himself, but even the slightest touch seems to make him wince more.

"It hurts, don't it?" I sigh, trying to make a point out of this.

He nods.

"Better remember this the next time you decide to do somethin' stupid, huh?"

He doesn't answer.

Once his finger's bandaged, I drag him back out to the living room and make him sit on the couch.

"Alright, I want answers," I demand, taking a seat beside him. "What the heck were you thinkin'?"

"It was a dare," he tells me, like it's supposed to be an adequate excuse. The worst part is I recall giving

Mom the same excuse once; maybe I should regurgitate her "If your friends jumped off a cliff" lecture word for word.

"I know how chicken works," I say. "What I wanna know is why you did it. Burning off your finger to prove somethin' seems awfully dumb to me."

He shrugs. "It was a dare," he repeats.

"Yeah, I _get_ that," I persist. "But would made you think playin' a game of chicken with Curly was a wonderful idea in the first place?"

He shifts his eyes away from me, dodging the my stares.

"Ponyboy," I snap.

"I dunno," he says. "I wanted to look tuff. You turn down a game of chicken, you ain't tuff."

"You turn down a game of anything with Curly, an' that makes you smart," I correct him. "Glory, kid, take one look at your hand and tell me it was worth it."

"Would've won," he insists. "But Tim caught us and bashed our heads together. He was pretty hacked."

"As damn well he should be," I say. "You know when Tim Shepard thinks something's a bad idea, it probably is."

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

"If you know, why'd you do it?" I ask. "And don't tell me it was a dare, because if you think that, this talk'll last until you're thirty." I know I'm interrogating him, but damn it, I'm trying to make a point here.

He rubs his nose with his non injured hand and tries to make eye contact with me. "Just … I dunno, Darry. It's fun to win a challenge like that. Like when you beat somebody in a fight … You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

Unfortunately I know exactly what he's talking about, and he knows that too. Time to look like a hyprocrite... "Is that burn fun?" I ask.

"No."

"You think having a scar there the rest of your life is gonna be fun?"

"No ..."

"Well, you better remember that."

"Okay," he agrees, and from the way he's nursing that finger, he probably will.

"Hey, Darry, think Tim's gonna kill Curly?"

Personally I don't give a shit if he kills Curly or not after this, but Pony looks truly worried about his friend's immediate future. I sigh."You should be more worried about what _I'm _gonna do to you." Honest, I'm not gonna to do anything apart from this lecture. I could—I probably should—but Dad's policy was always a talking to before anything else. Pony'll think I'm a jerk if I ignore that. Besides, that burn on his finger will serve as painful reminder on it's own.

He laughs at me. "Tim's way scarier than you," he says.

"Oh yeah?" I lift an eyebrow. "Well, I'll tell you what, you ever do anything like this again, and I'll ground you twice as long as the longest Mom and Dad ever grounded you." I mean it too.

"Okay."

He looks calm. I give him a confused look. "What do you mean you're okay with it?"

"Longest I've ever been grounded was one week..." he says. "Two weeks doesn't sound too bad."

I rub my forehead out of frustration. Attempt to appear scary _failed_. Lest I forget he was Mom's little angel... Soda and I were the bad ones.

But what really gets me is I'm scary when I'm not trying to be and not scary enough when I want to be. He's the one walking on egg shells all the time, and now that I'm trying to give him a serious lecture he's completely calm... Someone oughta enlighten me on how that works before I go postal.

"C'mon, no way," I say, hoping he's pulling my leg. "You had to do _something_ that earned you at least two weeks."

"Nope." He shakes his head. "But Soda got grounded for a month once."

"I remember that. Guess he holds the record, huh?"

Pony nods.

Soda accidentally set the lawn on fire with Steve to earn that. To this day we still don't know how that happened or whose bright idea it was, but Dad was so mad he couldn't talk to Soda for an hour. You knew you screwed up when Dad was that mad.

"Alright, Pony," I say, getting serious again. "What'd you learn today?"

He stares at me like I'm joking. "You sound like a kindergarten teacher right now," he says. "I ain't five..."

I run a hand over my face. Alright, so that was poorly worded... "Just..." I shake my head and resort to barking a couple orders at him. "Stay the hell away from Curly for one, and for the love of all that is holy, don't injure yourself in a dare."

"Okay," he says, getting up.

"I mean that, Ponyboy!" I call after him.

"Okay," he repeats and keeps walking. "I got homework to do... It'll take me longer since I gotta use my non dominant hand, you know?"

"Alright," I say, scratching my chin.

I guess I didn't pay attention to how this might affect homework. He should've thought of that before he did it.

xxxx

When Soda gets home and Pony tells him about what he did with Curly, I say a silent prayer, he doesn't congratulate him or something stupid like that.

Soda's eyes grow wide, and he starts lecturing him maybe even more than I did. "That's pretty stupid, Pony," he starts. "Even I wouldn't do that. You could hurt yourself bad doin' that."

Pony stares on in shock. I cover my mouth so he can't see I'm smirking.

"What were you thinkin'?" Soda asks.

"Darry already asked me that..." Pony looks at me, like I'm supposed to stop Soda.

I shake my head at him. Soda ain't punching him or yelling at him, so I'll be damned if I don't seize an opportunity to let him tell Pony this was stupid.

"Well, I'm not Darry, am I?" Soda goes on. "C'mon, Pony, I wanna hear it from you."

Pony shifts uncomfortably and basically tells Soda the exact same thing he told me: it was a dare. Soda laughs at that and starts telling stories about the stupid dares he's done, and I almost intervene. Damn it, Soda, you're gonna make him do _more_ shit like this, but then he gets serious and tells Pony he was acting like a idiot every single one of those times. Thank Christ.

And Pony gets it too. Hallelujah.

Except now I'm jealous again. Why is it that I try so damn hard, and Soda gets Pony to listen with no effort at all?

I tell myself to get over it. They've always been close. Instead of getting jealous, I should just use it to my advantage...

xxxx

The week goes by quickly. It's like we've found a routine we can live with, and I hope it lasts.

Soda and I get along better. Little did I know all it would take is letting him have more say with Pony, and though I was hesitant at first, Pony's next nightmare seals that I _do_ need his help. Same as the first one, I stand and watch, and it's every bit as painful as the first.

Eventually after Soda gets him back asleep, we wind up sitting at the kitchen table. It's four AM on a Friday, but I wouldn't surprise me if we both stay up the rest of the morning.

"He keeps having them about the accident," Soda says. "I … I don't even know what to tell him."

"Me either."

Things like this are agonizing reminders we lost our parents. Sometimes I think we're content to pretend we never had parents, but we all know that's bullshit.

"Maybe I should start sleeping in his room," Soda suggests. "I mean, I dunno if it'll help, but it's worth a try, right?"

I nod, too exhausted to offer words, but I agree with him. One, having my own room would be nice. I'd move into Mom and Dad's, but I'm not ready yet. Two, and even more importantly, having someone there might help Pony sleep better. I remember when they got really bad, Mom would sleep in his room, and it helped then.

Soda rubs his forehead and yawns. "They better stop," he says.

I nod again, and we fall silent.

"Hey, Darry," he speaks up a minute later. "We should get some sleep. Especially you."

"I'm fine," I assure him. I'm tired enough to sleep, but I'm afraid I'll have a repeat of what happened last time. In order to make sure I don't sleep through my alarm, I'm staying up until work.

"Darry, don't make me yell at you," Soda says, getting up. "I will. I mean it."

"Soda … if I sleep, I probably won't get up in time."

"Well, sleeping is important," he insists. "You don't start sleeping more, and I'll knock you over the top of the head to a sledge hammer to make you pass out every night."

He says it with a smirk, but the sentiment behind it is real. "Yeah, I'll finish my glass of water, and go to bed in a minute, okay?" I lie.

He gives me a look that says he doesn't believe me but starts walking towards Pony's room. "Night, Darry."

"Night."

Once he's gone, I drink cup after cup of coffee until it's time to go to work.

xxxx

At work I can barely concentrate. I almost nail my hand into the roof a few times. When I drank all that coffee, I didn't consider it might make my hands jerky.

Jerry notices. "Junior, you look like Frankenstein," he teases me.

"Yeah, I suppose I do," I agree. "Didn't sleep much last night."

"You mind me askin' why?"

I would mind normally. Last thing I want to do is tell my coworkers about my personal life, but the exhaustion makes me indifferent. "Kid brother's having nightmares."

"Ah, nightmares..." He chuckles. "Yeah, my Jean used to have those... Started giving her some whiskey before she went to bed, and she slept through the night. You should try it."

That definitely sounds questionable. Hell no to that. I'd sooner take him to a doctor before I tried that, but I nod and tell him I'll keep it in mind.

xxxx

When I get home, I rejoice I get to stay home. No shift at my other job tonight... I only work there sometimes. Doesn't pay as well. It was my high school job—stocking grocery store selves—but the boss loves me and it's extra cash.

I spread out on the couch and nap until I hear the creak door open.

"Hey, Darry."

I blink and Soda's sitting on the coffee table in front of me.

I sit up slowly. He his a big grin, the kind that's so big it's scary. "Alright, what'd you do?" I ask him.

He hands me work check from the DX, and I stare at the number for a long time, my suspicion meter high. "That's for you," he says, pointing to it. "To help with bills."

I should be grateful, but I can't get over how high the number is. "How in the world'd you manage to earn this when you got school?"

Soda twiddles his thumbs. "Yeah, about school, Darry…" He takes a deep breath. "I dropped out."

"You _what_?" I stand up so quickly I nearly trip. After everything I'd said about that the past couple weeks, he went and fucking did it?

"We need the money, Darry." Soda keeps his tone even and looks me directly in the eye.

It pisses me off how calm he is. Fists balled at my sides, I take a step closer to him. "You ain't dropping out. End of story."

"Already did."

I grab ahold of his shoulders and push him against the wall.

"Listen, Darry," Soda starts before I can get a word in. "I ain't smart anyway and you need the mon—"

"You shut your mouth and listen to me, Soda," I yell so loud, it makes my vocal chords hurt. "I'm your guardian, and what I say goes: You. Ain't. Dropping. Out. Period. End of discussion."

I let go of him and take a step way.

I'll punch him if I don't. "I mean that, little buddy," I say. "So you get that idea out of your head right now. I don't care if you already did it. How did you do it anyway? Don't I have to sign off on that?"

"I'm sixteen," he says, "You can legally drop out when you're sixteen."

I grumble, realizing he's right. "I can't believe you, pulling this shit behind my back." I can hardly speak. My voice shakes. "So did you just flee off to work when I dropped you off at school? Did Pony know about this? Goddamnit, Soda. I can't even… Just …"

I can't talk anymore. If I keep talking, I'll work myself up so much I'll beat the living shit of him.

I kick the leg of the coffee table, stubbing my toe in the process. I curse under my breath, and Soda rushes to my side. "You okay, Darry?"

"I'd be perfectly fine if it weren't for this," I growl. How dare he have the nerve to ask if I'm okay after that.

"You're grounded … indefinitely," I say. "Until I can stand looking at you again."

"Darry..."

"Glory, I could just … I could just strangle you. What the hell were you thinking, huh? Enlighten me, 'cause I'd love to know. Go on. Go right on ahead and tell me…"

I fold my arms across my chest and raise an eyebrow, waiting on the bullshit response.

"I was thinking of _you_," he snaps. "I don't care how pissed you are right now. You need this money, so you can stick your "stay in school" bullshit up your ass Darry. I'm doing this. I already did."

That's it. That's the last straw. I bolt out the door before I strangle him. I would too. That's the scary part.

I get in my truck and drive until I feel satisfied. I even make it a mile or two out of Tulsa.

I get out and lean against the truck hood, letting the wind pelt my face. Soda's just over halfway through his Junior year, he's done. How the hell do you do that? One and a half years. That's all he has left, and him saying he did it for me pisses me off even more.

Either he really is that selflessly stupid or he's using it as an excuse. I think back to that "don't worry" talk he gave me and wonder if he was purposefully plotting for me to look the other way this week, like he'd planned it out the entire time, and I could just—

I elbow the truck in my frustration. Doubting his intentions is dumb. He did do it for me. He did, he did, he did, and I'm going to have to accept that much whether I agree with it or not.

Does he realize the situation he put me in? That's the part I don't get. I can't just be grateful for that, but if I'm not he's gonna be hurt. He apparently did it for me, but this is the absolute worst thing he could've done to me. I can't be happy. I won't be happy. Man, it's good he ain't here now, or … Well, it scares what I could do to him. It honest to God scares the living shit out of me.

I try to sift through my anger and think of way to convince him to go back. Fat chance I will, but damn it, if there was one thing my folks would've wanted it's him graduating.

Dad didn't graduate. He dropped out and said it was the biggest mistake he'd ever made. As much as Soda idolizes him, you'd think that would mean something to him. You'd think those "stay in school" lectures would stick with him, but they didn't.

I stand here for a long time, thinking, cursing up a blue streak, practicing stupid "stay in school" lectures, but in the end, I decide I can't do a single thing about it.

Soda's made up his mind, and I don't have enough influence to change it. I don't think Mom could. I don't think Steve could. I don't even think Pony could. Maybe Dad could've, but I'll never know that for sure. I'll never know.

xxxx

I drive back home and it feels like the night my football team lost State amplified. I remember that drive home. It was like a walk of shame, walk of defeat. It was my bad throw that cost us the game, and accepting defeat to Soda feels exactly like that. Like I let everybody in the entire universe down, and I don't care if that sounds melodramatic.

After all the shit we've been through, _this_ is hitting me the hardest, and what's worse is I'm gonna have to make Pony think I let him drop out. It's a bad situation either way I look at it, but Pony can't think I have no control over Soda. He _can't._

I don't know. Honest, I don't. I have no clue what the hell I'm going to say when I walk through that door, but I can't stay away forever.

xxxx

When I arrive home, Pony's there and Soda still is.

Tension couldn't be higher. I say nothing to either of them until I'm calling them to the table for supper, and then we eat silence. I wonder how long it's going to be this way. Hours? Days? Probably days. I won't get over it any time soon. This is worth at least a month of being pissed off.

"Y'all … okay?" Pony asks, picking at his plate of food, the tension clearly unnerving him.

Soda runs a hand through his hair, and I set my fork down. I decide to tell him straight up what happened. He'll find out later, and lying to him? Well, that could be even worse than having to tell him now... "Soda dropped out."

Pony's face immediately tenses up and reads panic. "Why?"

"We need the money," I say. "I can't work three jobs." I cringe on the inside, realizing I'd just led him to believe I okayed the whole thing. Maybe that was stupid. Maybe I should take that back, but it's too late now.

Soda gives me a confused stare, and I do my best to ignore it, picking up my fork again.

That's how we reach our agreement he's officially done without speaking a single word to each other.

I take a small bite of my chicken, but I can't swallow it.

I'm too disgusted this actually happened.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I don't own.

* * *

Soda gets up without finishing his meal, a first for him.

"Where're you goin'?" I ask him.

He doesn't reply, just keeps walking.

"Hey, be back by one!" I add.

The door slams, and he's gone.

After what I said to him, I don't wonder why.

Honest, I'm still angry. I still mean everything I said about him dropping out; well, everything except telling him I couldn't stand looking at him. That, I didn't mean that. I was just mad, still _am_ mad, but that's an unfair exaggeration. I can still look at him. Maybe I can even talk to him as long as we don't talk about what he did, because if he brings it up even a week from now, I still might explode.

No matter what he says to convince me, he's dead wrong about what he did.

I rub my forehead and turn my attention to a silent, upset Pony. He clears his plate slowly, pushing the food around, holding the fork carefully not to damage his finger.

"How was school?" I ask him.

He looks up from the food and shrugs. "Fine, I guess."

I sigh, wishing he'd just cooperate and make small talk with me. I can't think about Soda or I'll get pissed all over again, and that won't do any of us any good. "Anything interesting happen?"

He thinks for a moment and says, "Well, Two-Bit got kicked out of French class."

"Oh yeah? That sounds like somethin' worth hearin'..."

"It _is_ pretty funny." He cracks a smile. "You know, he only took French 'cause lots of girls take it..."

"Hardly surprising," I say. "How'd he get himself kicked out?" I have a few ideas, but I can't pass up hearing this story.

"He doesn't know any French," Pony tells me.

Well, that's anticlimactic ... and stupid. "Ain't it the teacher's job to teach him?" I ask.

"Just wait, there's more," Pony assures me. "I heard from a girl in the class he just spoke English all the time in a crazy French accent to make everybody laugh, and he called himself Deux-Morceau 'cause I guess that means Two-Bit in French. Bet he made it a personal goal to drive Mrs. Bernard crazy..."

I smirk. "And that got him kicked out, huh?"

"Yup, she made him take a quiz to see it he knew anything they'd talked about all year, and he just drew a bunch of pictures on it," he goes on. "Apparently some of them were inappropriate. Long story short, the principal stuck him in my study hall now."

"Good luck gettin' any studying done..." Study hall was the only class I'd had with Two-Bit all through high school, and neither of us ever studied in it. We threw lots of spit balls at each other, and I was lucky they always thought it was his fault when we got caught. I remember feeling guilty about that, but he said he was gonna be in trouble anyway at some point and didn't care. Still, all my teacher's thought I was just great, and they shouldn't have. I had a lot of them fooled.

"Speaking of studying, why don't you go get a start on your homework?" I suggest. "I'll clear the table..."

He looks at me like I've lost my mind again.

"What? It takes you longer to do it with your finger. Can't rush yourself or—"

"Darry, it's the weekend," he cuts me off. "I ain't doin' homework on a Friday night. That's … wrong."

"Alright, then help me clean up," I say, embarrassed I forgot it was Friday. After I'd just told Soda he could stay out 'til one too _because_ it was the weekend.

I'm losing it.

xxxx

Everything put away, I head straight for the couch and sink into the back of the cushions. I wonder for a second if I should've ran after Soda. I technically grounded him, right? I said indefinitely, so I guess that means for life... I think we both know he's not grounded though, and that I was just rambling off anything I thought might get to him.

What'd he expect though? _Thanks for dropping out, Soda_? And if he was gonna do it, he didn't have to be sneaky about it. It's pretty clear he waited 'til he had a work check, thinking money might appease me. Worst part is I can't look at that and say it won't help me.

Right now, the way money works out, we're breaking dead even, and that's only the first month I've had to pay bills. If any unexpected expenses pop up, we're screwed, except now we're not thanks to Soda.

As much as I hate to admit it, I don't mean that thanks sarcastically either. It will help. I can't deny that, but for God sakes couldn't this have worked out another way? Like me getting a raise? Anything but Soda pulling a fast one behind my back...

He didn't have to lie about it. Maybe I'd be okay if he hadn't lied about it, but that's bullshit too.

I don't know what to think, so I tell myself not to. He'll come back later, and hopefully we can just come to a truce without saying a word to each other. We can pretend he always had this full time job, and everything will be _fine_.

"Did Soda … really drop out?"

I run a hand through my hair and glance up at Pony. Really? I just push being pissed off out of my head, and he has to bring it up again?

He stands before me, his shoulders slumped forward. This is really bothering him.

"I don't wanna talk about it," I tell him impatiently. I don't. If I talk about it, I'll dwell on it and get madder and madder and madder and convince myself Soda strategically plotted every move in this against me all over again.

I know it's bullshit. Maybe he'd preplanned it, but it was simultaneously with my best interests in mind, regardless of how screwed up his thought process is. He's helping me by doing the exact opposite of everything I told him. Yeah, that's helpful...

It's downright aggravating is what it is, and here I go again, working myself into a fit of rage.

I look at Pony. He's still staring at me for that official answer, so I give it to him. "Yeah, he did," I say through gritted teeth.

His expression goes from concerned to annoyed. "Why'd you let him?" he asks.

Let him? For Christ's sakes, I didn't _let _him. He did it allon his own, and Pony wants to blame me for this? Is it that hard to believe that Soda is stubborn little shit sometimes?

"He wanted to real bad," I say. "Wanted to help us out."

"But it's stupid not to stay in school..."

"I know."

I do. I really do. And I also know that Pony's going to hate every answer I give him, and worst of all he probably thinks I agree with Soda when he says he's dumb just because this happened.

"We … we just don't have options," I try to explain myself. "We had to." That's bullshit too. I want to agree with every word he said 110%, but I can't, because he can't know Soda pulled all the strings behind my back. He'll never take me seriously then.

Pony sits beside me. "I don't like it," he says.

I sigh and pat his shoulder. "Believe me, I don't either."

He turns to me and shakes his head. "You should tell him to go back," he insists. "He'll listen to you."

I stare at him, though it may look more like a glare. If he had any idea how many fights Soda and me about that, he wouldn't say that. I couldn't change Soda's mind if I tried, and this blind confidence Pony has in my abilities scares me.

I _wish_ Soda listened to me as good as Pony apparently thinks he does, and as far as Pony knows, he does. Soda humors me. There may be an eye rolls, but he does what I tell him to_ in front of Pony._ Pony must just think everything is fine, and I sigh, realizing that is exactly what I want him to think. It's exactly what Soda wants him to think too.

"Hey, Pony, how's your finger?" I ask, half to change the subject, half because I really do wanna know.

He shrugs, giving me the same response he first gave me when I asked about school: "Fine, I guess," which definitely translates to _It still hurts, Darry._

"Can I see it?"

He shakes his head, pulling his hand further away from me. "There's nothin' wrong with it, I promise."

"Well, I'd feel better if I could see that with my own eyes," I tell him. "C'mon, that was a nasty burn, kid. We don't need a nasty infection on our hands too."

"Fine," he concedes, peeling away the bandaging. "See?" He holds his finger in front of me and pulls it away. "It's healing."

I grab his hand to get a closer look in case he's lying to me. It's blistering, but no signs of anything serious. As far as I can tell, the only real damage is going to be painful, itchy healing and a scar to prove it happened. I hope he's not proud of that, because at his age, I know I would've been...

"See?" he insists once more.

He starts pushing the gauze back over it. "Pony, stop… " I tell him, cringing that he actually thought to put the old bandaging back on his finger. For a smart kid, he really doesn't think sometimes. "It'll get infected for sure if you do that. C'mon, I'll help you..." I nudge him to get up and follow me.

He gives me an irritated sigh. "I ain't three," he says.

He starts walking away, and I let him.

"Make sure you wash your hands before you put anything on it," I call after him.

"You sound like Mom," he calls back.

"Well, she was one smart lady," I say, but I don't think he hears me.

_One smart lady who would've babied the shit out of you over this_, I should add. She really didn't like it when we got in fights or hurt ourselves. Dad always said boys will be boys, but she snapped something awful whenever he said that. It didn't seem to matter how old we were either. Just two months ago, I pulled a muscle at work, and she kept pushing ice packs on me and even wanted to call my boss to tell him to go easy on me until Dad told her she was overreacting. She would've done it too.

I missed her a lot right now, thinking about all this. I might make an okay guardian; at some point at least, but I'll never be a substitute for a mother.

xxxx

Johnny comes over and drags Pony off somewhere, and much to my surprise Soda comes home early. Steve trails in behind him.

Soda stops and notices I'm staring at him. "Thought you weren't lookin' at me."

"Yeah, well, it's too bad you ain't an uglier person," I say, massaging my temples. That comeback doesn't even make sense, but it gets a small chuckle out of Steve.

"We're only gonna be here for a minute," Soda insists.

"That's fine," I say.

"I mean that," he adds, like he expects me to say something worse.

"I said it's fine, little buddy," I say, trying to hide my annoyance.

His expression changes slightly, but he flips back to being stubborn. "I thought I was grounded indefinitely," he adds.

"Yeah, well ..." I struggle with my words. "I didn't actually mean that ..."

"Sure sounded like you did," he keeps on.

"Soda..." I start, but I can't finish my thought.

He disappears into our room and comes out with a different jacket on. I have no what his plans are, but I'd guess it involves girls...

He stops in front of me. "I'll be back by one," he says.

"... thirty," he tags onto it quickly, like he truly wants to listen to me, but can't stand the thought of not throwing a bit of rebellion onto that. That's a good sign. Probably means we're (mostly) okay again.

"Yeah, be back by _one_," I say, playing along. He can rebel and arrive a half hour late if he wants.

"See ya, Darry."

"Have fun," I tell him, and he scurries out the door.

Steve stays behind. Fingers hooked in his belt loops, he just stands and stares at me for a moment.

I groan and wait for some smartass remark. Soda probably told him I was an asshole or something along those lines.

"Hey, for the record, I don't think he should've dropped out either," he says, dead serious.

Of all the things he could've said, I didn't expect that...

He takes off after Soda, and I stare at my hands, speechless.

I should've said thank you. I never would've expected Steve to be the one to say it, but it means a lot to hear.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns.

AN: After this, go read 7.06andCounting's _These Nights Are Too Quiet_. There's a small part of this chapter that reminds me of that, and I can't miss the opportunity to recommend something great. I think you'll all enjoy it! :)

* * *

When I was younger, I used to look forward to having the entire house to myself. It didn't happen often, there was always someone or something happening, but on the rare times it did, I savored every moment.

I try to remember why I liked that, 'cause at the moment, I ain't sure. I guess it was the peacefulness of having a moment to myself. Nobody left me alone if they were around; especially my brothers. It was always, "Hey, Darry, come do _this_ with us." Seemed like everything they did, they wanted me to be a part of; at the time, I thought nothing of it. It was annoying, having to do everything with them. I had my own friends and interests, after all, but Dad would tell me they looked up to me, and at the hands of feeling guilty, I'd begrudgingly agree to do whatever it is they wanted to do. Thinking about how much it annoyed me makes me feel like a bit of an asshole now. I mean, I'm sure every oldest child feels like that at some point, but not every oldest child is in my shoes now.

It leaves me scrutinizing everything I did in the past, wondering if and how it might affect the present. Do they know I didn't really want to play with them when they asked? They were young and blissfully ignorant then, but do they realize it now? I hope not.

I sigh and tell myself to quit dwelling on this. Mom always said I thought about everything too much, called me her little thinker. Kind of patronizing to think about now, but I guess it's true; I _do_ think about everything and over-analyze the hell out of it too. I have to. I have to come up with a logical reason for everything, or I drive myself crazy. It settles things for me; a logical thought puts an end to whatever though process is bogging me down.

But still, it's funny though to think I used to love being alone.

Everything is quiet, too quiet, and I miss the noise already. The silence is giving me too much time to think, and that's probably a bad thing. Not to mention it gives me chills, like something bad is gonna happen, and without my brothers here, of course that worry gets projected unto them. Where are they? What are they doing? Should I have been a little more hesitant to let them go out?

After my folks' death, can you blame me for being paranoid?

I especially worry about them doing something stupid. Maybe it's worse to be a guardian my age, because I still remember every trick they might try to pull on me. Hell, not even five years ago, I was doing the same damn thing to my parents, and I only hope they don't do half the crazy things I did in high school. What they've done is bad enough. Like Pony playing chicken with Curly, or Soda … who knows what he and Steve are doing. I used to not care. They were my folks' problem. I got to stand back and laugh if they got in much-deserved trouble, especially if I'd forewarned them Mom was not gonna be happy.

That was the best. I usually spoke from personal experience, but I guess when you're a teenage boy, you have to try everything out for yourself.

Now I feel pretty stupid for giving such a late curfew. The way I see it now one AM is inviting trouble. When I came up with that time, I thought I'd be lenient to be cooler than my parents. Mom liked ten or eleven, and Dad could sometimes talk her into midnight, but they never gave us a time past that. Mom always stayed up waiting on us. She would not go to bed until we were home, and now I get it. I get why she couldn't. For one, how will I know they listened to me if I don't stay up? And then, well, what if something happens? I guess I really am turning into a mother hen, and that just makes me want to throw up in my mouth a little, but what choice do I have... Who else is gonna worry about them?

We're all we have now, and the thought of anything happening again is too much to bear.

When midnight rolls around, I watch the clock anxiously. Pony rolls in around twelve fifteen, a whole forty-five minutes earlier than I asked. For a second, I want to thank him, but he'd probably think I was crazy, so I say nothing.

"Soda home?" he asks.

"Nope."

"When will he be home?"

"One thirty probably," I say.

Pony eyes widen in annoyance. "You gave him a later curfew than me?"

I sigh and nod. I technically didn't, but this is probably another case of hiding Soda's rebellion. "See, he's a little older than you, kiddo," I explain. "When you get to be sixteen, I'll give you an extra half hour too, okay?"

"Okay," he says, but I can tell he's still annoyed. I guess, it's frustrating being the youngest sometimes... I've always been the oldest so I wouldn't know. For me it was aggravating to see Mom and Dad loosen up their rules by the time they got to him. He got to do lots of things younger that I didn't because it was hard for him to be left out. Oh, that used to piss me off, but I suppose feeling left out isn't fun either. Maybe Soda was the lucky one, being in the middle.

I turn to Pony and notice he's yawning. I give him a sympathetic look. "Hey, Pony, it's late, you should get some sleep."

"I'll wait for Soda," he insists, rubbing his eyes. He blinks at me, and I know he won't make it long, but I decide not to argue with him.

"Alright." I pat the couch cushion beside me and he sits down. "You can watch the clock with me then. We gotta make sure Soda doesn't break his curfew."

I wink at him, and he firmly shakes his head. "He won't. He wouldn't do that to you."

I sigh and ruffle his hair. If he only knew. If he _only_ knew...

Not even five minutes later, he's out cold, just like I predicted. I leave him on the couch for a while. He's sleeping soundly and I don't want to disturb him, but then I decide he'll sleep better in his bed and carry him there.

He must've been exhausted because he doesn't wake up when I pick him up. He rolls over to his side when I set him down, eyes still firmly shut, and I quick pull his covers over him. _Yeah, you were gonna wait up on Soda, kid_, I think with a smirk as I leave the room.

xxxx

An hour passes. It is now one thirty, and no signs of Soda. Damn it, Soda. I sincerely hope it's lack of time management and not that he's trying to prove something to me again. If he's trying to prove something, I'll explode again for sure...

At a one thirty-three I hear something, but it's not Soda coming home; it comes from Pony's room, and when I get there, I realize it's him panting for a breath. He sees me and tries hard to stop his tears. I wish he wouldn't do that...

"Nightmare?" I ask.

He doesn't answer me. "Where's Soda?"

"Not home yet."

"It's one thirty-five," he says, glancing at his alarm clock. "You said he'd be home by now."

"I know," I tell him. "That was the curfew I gave him, Pony, but it's up to him to come home on time."

So much for protecting Soda's rebellious moves now... Pony's already up, and he's going to wonder, so I decide to just be honest. "I told him that," I explain. "Maybe he's running a little late?"

Pony nods, and I can't tell if he's worried something might've happened to Soda or not. _Glory, kid, it's only five minutes_, I want to plead with him, but for all I know, that nightmare could've been about something awful happening to our brother, and I don't wanna sound in insensitive.

I sigh and walk up to Pony. "You okay?"

He remains silent. I sit down on the bed next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. I ain't good at this comforting thing, but I guess I can try. If Soda's not here, someone has to, the way he's shaking.

A moment later I extend my whole arm around him, but I think we both know this is stiff and forced. He tenses up, and I wonder what good, if any, I'm doing by being here. "What was it about?" I try a second later.

"I don't wanna talk about it," he quickly dismisses it.

Despite my doubt, I keep my arm around him just in case. Much to my surprise, he starts to relax a little, and when he leans against me, I know he's starting to trust me. _Thank God. _

"Well, if you do wanna talk about it, I'm not goin' anywhere," I tell him.

He nods as though he's registered what I said, but he stays quiet.

_At least he knows_, I tell myself. _At least he knows. _

xxxx

Soda shows up a little before two AM, and the second he bolts through Pony's door, my days of comforting Pony are history. Soda sits down, and immediately Pony pulls himself out of my arm and into Soda's "You have another nightmare?" Soda asks.

Pony nods.

"Wanna tell me about it?"

Pony shrugs, and Soda gives me a look that tells me I'm supposed to leave.

I pat Pony's back once and get up. No use getting upset over this. I should just be happy Soda's home since he's obviously so much better at dealing with it than me.

I walk out of the room and look back for a second. Pony's already opening up to Soda, and it stings something awful. Okay, I'll admit it, I _am_ upset, but only because I would've listened to every word he had to say if he'd given me the chance.

xxxx

I sit at the kitchen table, mind so blank and exhausted, I just stare at the wall until Soda sits down beside me some half an hour late

"Sorry, I was late," he apologizes, drumming his fingers against the table. He didn't look at me when he said it, but somehow I know he meant it.

I nod, unable to offer anything verbally. I want to snap at him for staying out late, or maybe even for dropping out still, but damn it, I'm trying to be reasonable about all this.

"You still mad at me?" he asks.

I sigh. "You want me to be honest?"

He nods. "Yeah..."

"A little," I say. "I mean, it's one thing to drop out, but then to lie to me about it for damn near two weeks? That's how long it took to get that paycheck, so I figure it must have been two weeks..." I stop, realizing my voice is working its way up to a yell. I run a hand through my hair and girt my teeth in an effort to control the anger. Clearly I'm still too mad to talk about it … "I dunno, Soda, it just hit the wrong nerve, you know? You can't do shit like that!"

"I know," he tells me. "Honest, I knew you'd be upset too... But I _have_ to do what I think is best for us."

I push my forehead into my hands and shake my head in them. _Don't you dare start this "duty" crap __with me_, Soda, I want to yell, but I bite down on my lip and keep quiet.

He falls silent too, and I spend the next couple minutes thinking of things to say to him. _Steve didn't want you to drop out_ is at the top of the list, as if I could still change his mind after all the fights we've had. _Mom and Dad would be ashamed of you_ is another winner, but I decide that sounds cruel.

"Let's just start over," he says. I turn my head to him to notice he's glancing at me with pleading eyes. "I'm sick of fighting, Darry. Let's just start over and not argue anymore. I hate it."

"What to you mean start over, little buddy?" I ask him, awfully confused by what he meant. Start over to me would mean him not dropping out, but I'll bet it has different meaning for him.

"I mean … I dunno what I mean," he explains. "I just don't wanna fight. I dropped out, but I'm gonna be making money. Can't we just call that our new start?"

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "I don't think it's that simple..." I say, and it isn't. That's asking a lot of me, to just forget he was ever in school. I remember thinking I should do that a while ago, but Christ, it's _hard_. It's damn hard to accept that he planned this out all on his own.

"It could be," Soda persists.

"How?"

"Well... I dunno," he admits, shoving a hand through his hair. "But let's just not fight anymore Darry. I can't stand it."

"You know, if we do that, it's gonna have to be a two way street, right?" I raise an eyebrow at him, and for a moment, he looks frustrated, like he might start arguing, but then he nods.

"Yeah, okay," he agrees. "But you gotta do your part too, damn it."

I stifle a laugh. I thought I'd be pissed at his sudden stubborn outburst, but I guess it's just too late to stay upset now.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns.

* * *

Soda's next work check is bigger than the last one; in fact he almost out earned me, which is frustrating and amazing at the same time. All the overtime he put in really paid off. We hardly saw him at all the past several days he was working so hard, probably trying to prove his dedication to me and this family. I never doubted that once. I hope he knows that. I hope he knows because I can't tell him so without it sounding like I'm proud of him for dropping out.

We need this money. Damn it, if it doesn't provide a good cushion. For the first time in weeks, I feel like we've made it out on top for a change. Money-wise at least. Pony's nightmares only slowed slightly with Soda sleeping in his room, but I assume that's only because he knows someone will be there when he wakes up screaming in the night. It kills me, it really does.

It kills me enough to sit him down for a talk about going to see a doctor. I'd made the appointment already and put off telling him for a couple days, but I can't anymore. Tomorrow is the big day after school, and it'd be unfair to take him there without a single word beforehand.

He stares at his hands, picking at his nails and skin, and I know he's nervous about what I just dumped on him. "Pony, maybe he can help you," I say in an effort to calm his nerves about it. We're only seeing our family doctor so he knows the man already, but something about having to go to a doctor period about a nightmare is spooking him.

"Yeah..."

"They seem to be gettin' worse and happening more often," I continue. "I mean, seems like every night now, and that ain't no way to live. If there's something we could do, let's do it, you know?"

He nods. "Yeah..."

"I'll go with you tomorrow, I promise," I assure him. "And if you want, I can do all the talking." I know he'd prefer Soda, but Soda works then, and I specifically got my boss to agree to let me off early. It was the only opening Dr. James had for a couple weeks, and I wanted to take him sooner than later. Besides, Soda isn't his guardian. Ain't their some kind of requirement your parent or guardian has to accompany you for these kinds of things?

He keeps staring at his hands, and I realize I have to prompt him for an answer. "What do you say, Pony?"

He sighs. "Okay, but only if you do the talking."

"I promised I would, and I will," I tell him. "But if I'm gonna do the talkin', I need to know a little more about what's goin' on."

"I always dream about the accident. And …" He pauses. "I just dream about that, Darry. That's all."

"Every time?"

He nods.

I knew this already. Soda told me, but I guess I was hoping for something more. I dunno. For him to open up more... No doubt that's an awful nightmare, but why would he keep dreaming it over and over again? Does he think he's responsible for their deaths somehow? I couldn't imagine how, except well, they did die on the way to go see him run... It wasn't his fault though. He didn't make the other driver run a red light. It was just an accident, a horrible accident at that, but no one was at fault except that driver.

"I think I'mma go read, Darry," he tells me and gets up.

I don't pester him any more and let him go. Maybe he needs to be alone. You can never tell with him; he's standoffish if he's trying to tell you he wants you to chase after him and standoffish when he's trying to tell you to back off, and only Soda can read the difference.

I can't, but I wish to hell I could.

xxxx

Soda gets home late. He worked an evening shift, and I almost fell asleep waiting on him.

"Pony in bed?" he asks.

I nod.

"No nightmares yet?"

"Nope."

"Good," he says. "I made it home in time then."

I massage my temples and fight the urge to say something snappy. He doesn't mean it mean, and it's true. I do have trouble handling these nightmares on my own, but it still seems insulting.

"I'm takin' him to the doctor tomorrow," I tell him, realizing I hadn't informed him yet.

He gives me a puzzled look. "Why?"

"'Cause it might help," I say. "Besides, it's been awhile since he's seen a doctor anyway. Aren't you supposed to get a check up every so many years?"

"I guess so, but I dunno, Darry. I think he just needs time." Soda rummages through the fridge for a late supper and takes a seat beside me to eat the leftovers he found. "I mean, we all do, Darry. Nobody's gonna be themselves for a while. I'm not, you're not, he's not..."

"Yeah, but we don't wake up screamin' 'cause we ain't ourselves," I insist.

"You may not scream in the middle of the night, but I know you don't sleep."

I grumble, but only because he's right. I sleep, but I'm averaging three to four hours, which is hardly enough.

"I think you're the crazy ones," he says with smile so I know he's teasing. "Me? I'm perfectly okay."

"Sure you are, little buddy..."

I happen to know he's not. He's been traveling on foot everywhere or getting rides from Steve, which leads me to believe he's afraid of driving since the accident. He used to beg me to borrow the truck, but now, I haven't had to share the truck since...

I guess he's right. We're all affected, but I'm still taking Pony to the doctor tomorrow. It can't hurt anything. It's probably just grief over what happened like Soda said, but there's something about the way he screams and reacts to it that unnerves me. Maybe that's normal too, considering, but I don't like it. I just want it to stop, so we can all stop feeling helpless. Me especially. Soda at least gets somewhere when he talks to him, and me taking him to the doctor? Well, this is my shot to help him...

When we hear Pony scream not even ten minutes later, it confirms my decision.

xxxx

As I work the next day, all I can think about is that appointment and what they might tell me. It distracts me from the task at hand once again, and I hate that. I hate that I can never concentrate and do this job as monotonously as I should be able to do.

I have to think. It's insulting not being able to think. Any able-bodied person could do this job, and I don't dock those who do—I know firsthand it's hard work—but it was only supposed to be temporary. I was living at home, working here to earn up enough to pay what the scholarship couldn't, but here I am now. I'll bet they gave that scholarship to some other kid who deserved it even less...

My mind flips back to Pony all day until its time to go. My coworkers look at me enviously, and I can tell what a few of them are thinking—that I'm lazy for taking off early, but they oughta mind their own damn business. This concerns my little brother and is worth more than this job any day.

When I pick him up from school, he looks just as nervous as he did yesterday, and the entire ride there is silent. In the clinic parking lot, I turn to him and sigh. "Hey, you got nothin' to worry about. _I'm_ the one who's gotta do all the talkin', remember?"

He gives me a small smile and I nudge his arm to follow me out the truck.

xxxx

In the waiting room, I can't help but notice we're the odd pair. The majority of the kids have their mother beside them, a couple but not many their dad. Pony has to be the only kid here sitting with his brother. When he glances around the room, I wonder if he's thinking the same thing as me; the deep in thought look in his eyes tells me he might be, but I never ask.

"Ponyboy Curtis," the nurse calls, and we follow her to a scale where she checks his height and weight.

"A little underweight for your age," she comments. "Must've just hit a growth spurt, huh?"

He nods, but I know he hasn't. The real reason is he hasn't been eating much since the accident, and I make a mental note to make sure he's eating enough. If nothing more, I just took one valuable thing out of this visit.

She leads us to a room, takes his blood pressure, which _is_ normal thankfully, and we wait for the doctor.

As we wait, I try to make small talk with him. "How was school?"

"Alright."

"Two-Bit get himself kicked out of anything?"

"Nope, jus' made our study hall teacher yell at him..."

I think it's amusing Two-Bit nearly always comprises our small talk, like Pony can't stand to tell me anything about himself. That much concerns me, but I guess I can't complain. With Two-Bit, at least there's always an endless stream of something to talk about. "What for?"

"He drew a not so flattering picture of her on the chalkboard before she showed up for class..."

I smirk, and before I get a chance to ask him what the picture looked like, Dr. James walks in the room. "Good afternoon, Ponyboy." He greets Pony with a handshake. "It's been a while since we've seen you. What brings you hear today?"

Pony glances to me, and I give him a slight nod to assure him I remember our agreement.

"He's been having some awful nightmares lately..." I answer for him. I have no idea how to word it except bluntly.

"Sometimes that happens during periods of change, like growth spurts," Dr. James explains. "And I understand your family's been under a lot of stress lately. I'm very sorry for your loss."

I grit my teeth slightly at those words we hear all too often. Whether the person truly means them or if simply making a nice gesture, they still sting a little. No one wants a constant reminder, and I especially don't want pity.

"It has been stressful," I tell him honestly. "Only this doesn't seem quite right, doctor. He wakes up screaming every night."

"That is a little concerning," he agrees with me and turns to Pony. "Before we talk about that, how about me make sure you're healthy physically first?"

Pony nods, and he leads him over to the exam table where he carries out a routine check up. I watch and wait impatiently for answers. "Well, everything looks good," he concludes. "Your brother is healthier than a lot of kids I see."

"Any idea what's causing the nightmares?" I ask. "Aside from well, stress."

"Oftentimes kids his age have overactive imaginations, and the stress in this case is aggravating it."

I don't know if I should be glad to hear that or not. I'm happy he's healthy, but I was hoping for something helpful.

He pivots away from me and back to my brother. "He's what I think you need to do, Ponyboy," he says. "I want you to read a lot, study hard, play some football. Focus on what your daily activities and put your all into them."

"Okay," Pony mumbles.

"Don't dwell on negative when it comes time to sleep," Dr. James continues. "Work your worries out during the day, and I think you'll see an end to these nightmares soon."

_Gee, thanks a lot, Doc, I could've told him that_, but at least I know he's healthy now, I guess.

"If that doesn't cure it, come see me again, alright?"

I nod. "Thank you," I thank him for Pony.

"You're very welcome, you two have a good day now," he says, leading us towards the door.

Pony is quiet on the walk out, but once we get to the truck, he gives me a pensive look. "Think that'll help, Darry?" he asks.

"Worth a try, ain't it?"

He nods, and we drive off in silence.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns.

* * *

Work goes slower and slower. It didn't seem like this before they died, and now, I can hardly stand it. Every day, it's a struggle to drag myself here. It _is_ the monotony. It _is _same old, same old day in and day out. What I wouldn't give for something complicated, and I can't get over that no matter how hard I try.

It's funny to think I coasted by doing next to none of my work in high school. I did the bare minimum on my assignments and somehow pulled A's out of my ass. I was a football captain, the stereotypical good kid. That alone got me far with a lot of teachers. I think some of them knew I was lazy, but there weren't many. I mostly remember sitting there quietly during my parent-teacher conferences, feeling mighty awkward about all they said about me, especially when I knew Soda's wouldn't go as well.

I guess school just never fit him; when I think about that, it doesn't surprise me he dropped out no matter how angry I've been with him the past couple weeks. He wasn't dumb, though. Actually maybe even smarter than me and Pony both when he applied himself.

Glory, thinking about school makes me miss it so much. If I had the chance to go back and live through it again, I would, and I wouldn't slack either. It was nice getting more credit than I deserved—I can't deny that—but I wouldn't take it for granted if I had it to do over again. I had a pretty nice life in high school. Lots of people probably would've killed to be me.

Now I can't cut corners anymore. If I cut a corner, the customer'll get a rude awakening every time it rains, not to mention my boss would fire me.

I need this job and shouldn't whine as much as I do. I mean, I have a job, it pays moderately well compared to other low end jobs, there's nothing to complain about, and that's while I'll never voice my bitching to another living individual, but honest, I can't stand it. I just can't, and I could go on and on and on forever.

It stresses me out, I come home every day tired and exhausted, and the next day I wake up to do it again.

Today's lunch break is running as awkward as it always does. I don't fit in among the workers here. As always, Jerry is the only one bothering to talk to me. In high school, I never once had this problem. It seemed like I was friends with damn near everybody, and now I don't even want to be. It's too much work, and I don't have time to put the effort into that. There are other things that deserve my full effort, and that's not one of them.

"You're awful quiet compared to your daddy," Jerry says. I guess that's his big comment for the day, and he's right. I'm not as much a talker as my old man, but no one, except maybe Soda or Two-Bit, is. I think that's my problem here. Everyone thinks I should be as amiable and wonderful as Darrel Sr., but I'm not. Maybe in high school I was, but like I said, today is a different story. I can't enjoy this when I was supposed to go to college. Maybe it sounds selfish, but it's the truth, and it's gonna take me longer than a few weeks to go over that.

"Yeah, he sure liked to talk," I say. Offering nothing'll make me look like the jackass I am in my thoughts.

"If you talk, work passes faster," Jerry continues, and I wonder if he thinks he's supposed to be my counselor or something. Well, it'd be nice of more than just you talked to me, Jerry, but then I don't even initiate conversation with him. I guess it's half my fault as everyone else's.

"Yeah, you're probably right," I tell him. Once again, my reply it delayed, and I'll bet he thinks I'm a lunatic or something.

"You should try it sometime." He claps a hand against my shoulder and walks away, and I wonder once again why he's kind to me. Is it because of my dad? Or is it just him?

Either way, he's right. I sound like a whiny little kid throwing a tantrum about all the things he can't have, and if this is where my job will be for the next several years, I need to get used to it.

I need to stop whining in my head incessantly every time I come here. It can't be good for me.

xxxx

When I get home, I catch Ponyboy smoking a cigarette at our kitchen table. I rub my temples, wondering if I should even push this issue. At first, I think _not today_, but if this becomes habitual, I'll go insane. As much as I want to, I can't ignore it. "Wasn't Mom's rule you always smoke outside?" I remind him.

I listen for a reply as I grab myself a glass of water. I take a sip and still none comes.

"Pony, what was Mom's rule about smoking?" I ask, much less patiently.

"Yeah, I know, but Dad smoked in here sometimes," he says, like that's supposed to make it okay. His tone wasn't as snappy as his words, but I still don't like it.

"So? Mom always got might irritated about that, and what makes you think I won't either?" I'm tempted to snatch the cigarette right out of his lips and put it out myself. I glare at him for while, and he must know I want to, because he immediately puts it out in Dad's old ashtray.

"I dunno," he says. "I never understood why we couldn't."

"Well, I never understood why they let you smoke in the first place." I snatch the pack off the table and stuff it in my pocket, provoking a sigh out of him. "I'm cuttin' you off for the day. You're thirteen and you smoke like you're fifty."

"Hey, that ain't fair!" he adds, his eyes growing wide. He won't die if he doesn't get another cigarette today, but the look on his face would lead you to believe he will.

"I think it's plenty fair," I tell him sternly. "You get your homework and so on down, you can have a couple later." But _only_ a couple.

He rolls his eyes and walks away. I don't bother reprimanding him any further. I know I just picked a tough battle, going against our parents and all, especially Dad, everyone's idol, but this one seems worth it.

Lots of people think the new health findings about smoking are bullshit, and maybe they are, but the couple times I tried smoking myself, my lungs revolted against me, like the smoke was suffocating me. And with all the sports I played, I always figured that was bad. One puff, and my body screamed not to do it, so that was that, and it seems smart. Thinking about it makes me wonder if he ignored that feeling when he started about a year ago, and the smell is even worse than the feeling. I could dislike smoking alone for that. Even if the new health claims prove false, I'll always hate it because of the nasty smell.

I start a saucepan of water boiling, figuring it'll be spaghetti tonight. Only it won't be blue because I'm making it.

As it boils, I wonder where all Mom's cookbooks are. I never paid attention when she was around, and after she died, I didn't have the will to look for them. It's a shame. Seems like we've put the easiest dishes possible in a rotation—all we need for this meal is noodles, a jar of sauce and maybe meat if we're felling fancy—but it might be time to branch out. We'll get sick of this eventually.

When supper's almost ready, Pony emerges from his room. "I got my assignments done," he tells me, looking hopeful

Glory, somebody please tell me he didn't rush them _just _for the pack of smokes. "Already?" I ask.

"Yup, there weren't many... Can I have my pack back now?" Yup, he definitely did. I could just shake him, but I don't.

"We ain't even had supper yet," I tell him calmly.

"But you said—"

"I know what I said," I can't help but snap. "After supper, okay? It'll kill your appetite." As I say it I realize that's probably what made him lose ten pounds. He's smoking more than eating. I know he smokes out of nervousness and it calms him, but I wish it was something else. I probably worry for nothing, but it won't kill a person not to smoke—if not for the selfish benefit I won't have to smell it on his clothes anymore.

And somebody has to push food on him or he'll waste away completely.

"But Darry..."

I set two plates down in front of us and point to his to silence him. Soda's working another evening shift so it's just me and Pony for now.

He takes a seat, but I can tell he's annoyed. That's alright. I knew he would be, and I probably seem like the most evil person on the place of the planet compared to Dad who told us we could smoke when we turned thirteen. Mom didn't like that, and I didn't blame her. I never had the desire, Soda never had the patience to, but Pony … he picked it up right away. No one smokes more than Steve Randle, but I have a feeling my kid brother could rival him someday at this rate.

"I'm not that hungry tonight," he tells me a moment later, picking at the noodles with his fingers and not his fork. Mom would cringe.

"Just try and eat what's on your plate," I say with a sigh, and honest, I don't really give a shit if he uses his fingers as long as it gets in his mouth.

He gives me a look, picks up his fork, and shovels in another bite in his mouth. I know it's different with me bossing him around, and honest, I probably wouldn't wanna listen to me either, but it's just how things are gonna have to be.

"Keep eating," I say, and he gives me an even dirtier look.

That's when I'm done being patient. "Hey, you don't have to get a big attitude about this," I tell him, raising my voice slightly. "I'm not tryin' to be a jerk here, but they'll think I starve you if you don't eat."

"Who's _they_?"

"Don't even," I growl. "You know damn well what I was talking about."

He just stares at me.

"Social Services," I go on. "Teachers... Everyone. Glory, Pony, just work with me here."

He looks towards his plate.

"Please," I add.

He doesn't say anything, but at least he eats half the plate of spaghetti.

I can't think of anything appropriate to say, so I pat his shoulder as some sort of nonverbal affirmation I'm glad he's done being stubborn.

I finish my own plate, and when I'm done, I look at him again. Neither of us has said a word to each other in the past several minutes, and that's when I realize something might be wrong. "You okay?" I ask him.

He nods, but I can tell he's not.

"Something happen at school?"

He shrugs. "Kinda, but not really."

I sigh. What kind of a response is that supposed to be? "Wanna talk about it?" I bump his arm with my fist lightly. "I could always beat some kids up if you need me to."

He smirks. "I could do that on my own."

"I'll bet you could, but the offer still stands." I wouldn't. Maybe before I was his guardian I would, but that'd get him and Soda taken away from me for sure; still I like to think I could. Makes me feel more like his brother.

"So what happened if you don't mind me asking?"

"Nothing much," he says, but he can't look at me so it must be.

"You sure?"

He's silent for a while, but then out of the blue, he starts talking. "I dunno, Darry," he says. "One of my teachers asked me how I was doin' or if I needed help with anything. She was real nice and all, but I _hate _it when people ask me things like that. I just … do." He shakes his head and stares down at the table. "Probably makes me crazy. I mean, it was nice of her to ask."

"Hey, you ain't crazy." I put a hand on his back in a forced effort to reassure him. "I feel the same way."

"You do?" He looks confused. "You always seem so nice to people when they ask..." Well, that's because I have to be. I'm head of this family now. I can't look like an asshole when people say something caring.

"Believe me, in my head, I'd rather punch them," I say. "I hate it too. Rather everybody just said nothin' to be honest... It'd be easier."

"Me too... Reminds me too much when they do." And then he dwells on it and it gives him nightmares... And I dwell on it too, and instead of a nightmare, I don't sleep period.

Pony starts eating again, and I feel like asking him if it was so hard to say something, but I know I'm not the most approachable person on the planet either. When he's does, he rinses off his plate and before he leaves, he pauses in front of me. "Can I hang out with Johnny after I finish my homework?"

"I thought you already finished your homework... ?"

He pulls at his shirt hem. "Well, I guess, I kinda lied a little..."

"All over cigarettes?"

He nods. "But I mean, c'mon, Darry, it ain't fair when Mom and Dad never cared if I did!"

"Maybe they were wrong about that then." I hate to say that because it feels like I'm disgracing their honor, but it's true. "I mean, they were pretty great parents, but you probably shouldn't be smoking at thirteen."

"Steve started when he was eleven," he insists.

"Doesn't surprise me," I say. "But that don't mean you should. If nothin' else, it's an unnecessary expense. And if you're worried you ain't gonna look tuff, tell 'em all your brother's a big jerk and won't let you."

"I'm not stopping," he says firmly.

"I never said you had to," I assure him. "Just cut back. I swear you smoke over two packs a day. How 'bout half of one? Or better yet, just a couple sticks..."

"Soo..." he drawls out, ignoring me about the smoking. "If I do my homework, can I hang out with Johnny?"

I shake my head slightly. "If you're gonna lie to me, I dunno if I should let you..." I pause, and the sad look on his face tells me he believes me. I think about it a lot, and it still gets to me how much I have right now. If I say no, that's a definite no... not even a maybe no, and though I may have doubted it before, the way he stands here now tells me he _will_ listen to me.

"You can't lie to me no more," I tell him firmly. "Next time you do that, I won't be so nice, but yeah, get that homework down and go find Johnny..."

"Thanks, Darry," he says and scurries to his room. In the end, I guess it was his nightmares that made me decide that. Figure maybe if he spends time with Johnny, at the very least it'll take his mind off things.

xxxx

When I hear the door open an hour later, I assume it's Soda, but instead Two-Bit walks in. "Hey, stranger."

"Hey," I greet back. "Long time no see."

I'm happier to see him than I would've expected myself to be. When my folks were around, everyone came over all the time, but it got slower with them gone. I can't speak for my brothers necessarily, but I know I miss it.

"You know me, I've been busy..." He takes a seat on our couch and kicks back.

"Busy what?" I have to laugh. He doesn't have a job that I'm aware of.

He pulls a picture out of his wallet. "See this pretty little lady?" He shows me the picture. "It's her senior picture, and you know what's on the back of it?" He flips it over and winks. I see a name—Kathy Pearson—and what I presume is a phone number.

"You're courting Vince Pearson's little sister?" I ask him. I knew that kid. He was in my grade and I had a couple classes with him, and all I have to say is Two-Bit better not wrong her in any way.

"You bet you ass, I am."

"Well, good luck."

"Thanks, but no thanks. Don't need luck. She's already head over heels for me."

"That confident, huh?" I tease

He holds out the picture again. "See that little heart she drew next to her name? I'm damn sure!"

Glory, I can't help but laugh at him. You'd think she's the first girl to ever like him.

"So 'bout you, Superman?" He elbows me. "Your boss got a hot daughter or somethin'?"

Well, come to think of, he actually does... Not that I'd even consider. For some reason, I just know he'd be the type to threaten me with a shotgun and fire me the next morning, and I don't have time.

It'd be nice to date again though. I have to admit that.

"Yeah, I think I'll pass," I tell Two-Bit.

"Nonsense." He punches my arm lightly. "Mark my words, buddy, I'mma find you a date. 'Bout time you had some fun."

I can't tell if I should be excited or afraid.

* * *

Please don't forget to review! :)


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns.

* * *

Two-Bit sticks around and tells me all sorts of stories about what he's been up to—some probably true, some probably half true, and then of course some completely made up—but when he asks me how I'm holding up, he's completely serious.

It throws me, but not in a bad way. When anyone else has asks me this, I wanna throw punches,but Two-Bit doesn't ask it in the _I'm-asking-because-it's-polite-to-ask_ sense. No, he asks because he truly does give a shit about us and not just because he heard somewhere on the streets three boys lost both their parents.

I'm probably just a skeptic. I'm sure most of the people actually _do_ give a shit, but it feels anything but genuine sometimes, and if it's anything less, I don't want to go through the trouble of reminding myself I'm not okay just to answer their damn question. When they ask, you think, and you realize when you tell them you're fine, it's a giant lie.

It's been about five seconds since Two-Bit asked, so I pull myself out of my head and force myself to say something, "As best as anyone could, I guess." But am I really doing the best anyone could? That's what bugs me. Sometimes I don't think I push myself enough... and other times, I think I push myself too much. Is there ever a balance? No, and it's a problem.

Two-Bit reaches over and claps a hand on my shoulder. "If you need anything, man, just let me know, and I mean _anything._"

I nod. Hardly a thank you for such a nice offer. I don't know why two words are so hard to say, but saying them feels like admitting I need help, and I like to think I'm doing just fine on my own.

"I can even talk to Pony if that kid starts givin' ya too much trouble," Two-Bit continues. "You know, he listens to me. I dunno why he does, but he does."

I crack a small smile in spite myself. The thought of that happening amuses me, and I may have to take him up on the offer some time if not just to see Pony's reaction to being lectured by Two-Bit. "That'd be a sight," I tell him.

"Hey, you know he would!"

The sad thing is he really would, and the last person I'd expect myself to take parenting help from is Two-Bit.

The door swings opens and Soda walks in.

"Guess what?" Two-Bit asks him before he has a chance to say anything.

Soda gives him a funny look. "Um, I got nothin' ... what?"

Two-Bit slings an arm around my shoulder. "I'm gettin' this man right here a date." He messes up my hair, and I shove him.

He shoves me back hard enough I tumble off the couch. I guess it's an invitation to brawl it out, so put him in a headlock and claim a quick victory.

Soda roars with laughter, and I let go of Two-Bit.

"See, Darry?" Two-bit says, pointing at Soda. "Your brother agrees you could use the love of a good woman!"

Soda smirks. "Yeah, Darry, Two-Bit's right," he says. "I think you need to get laid."

"Agreed 112%," Two-Bit adds.

I run a hand through my hair and give them a look that says I'll tackle them both if they keep talking about my sex life.

My irritation makes them laugh harder, and I could just smash both their heads together. It ain't as funny as they think it is. So I'll go on a date. I've been on several before... So I might get some action later. It's _all _happened before, and when it became some kind of big deal I ain't sure.

"I still don't get what's so funny," I say. "Might I remind you, you used to ask _me_ for advice on girls, little buddy?" It's true too. I remember all those conversations and how great it was to feel like an expert on the art of dating. Now he probably had me beat, but years ago, I was the ladies man.

"It's funny 'cause you're so embarrassed," Soda tells me.

I feel like telling them both I'm_ not _embarrassed, but the blood rush to my face would indicated I am.

Within a minute, they're off the subject, thank God. Now they're comparing the girls they're interested in instead. I listen out of curiosity and offer nothing to the conversation. Soda talks a lot about a girl named Sandy, ridiculously so. And Two-Bit insists Kathy has a wild side, and from the sounds of it, he intends to bring it out.

I should say something. Considering Soda and I used to talk about girls a lot, I should know who this Sandy is by now, especially since Soda seems ready to take the next step. He's falling hard just like he did for that other girl—Anita. That was a train-wreck. Anita lasted exactly one and a half weeks because Soda was an idiot and came on too strong. I told him not to. I told him girls need space at the beginning, advice I still stand by, but apparently his brother knew nothing about dating or girls.

He finally believed I was right when Steve told him so, so I should hope he's learned his lesson by now.

"So, Darry ..." Two-Bit says. "When I scout out potential dates, you want an innocent lady or a wild child?"

Soda looks hopeful on an answer from me, and I shake my head.

I refuse to answer that. I get up and head to the kitchen, hearing their laughter erupt once more. They just think it's so funny, but what's funnier is I don't need their help. I could just as easily find myself a date on my own if I wanted to. I just don't have the time to devote to a girlfriend right now...

I find Pony and wonder when he rolled in and how I missed it. Well, he came home on time. One thing I won't have to worry about tonight at least, not that he would break curfew. Pony's pretty innocent. All I know is Mom never had to get on his case the way she did mine and especially Soda's. Sometimes we thought that was a a bunch of bullshit, and that she only spoiled the hell out of him because he was her baby, but there might've been some truth to it.

I saw the horror in his eyes when he watched us get in trouble—especially the times when we got Dad to yell—and I guess that was enough to keep him on his toes.

He stands by the sink. Clearly he hasn't seen me yet. I take a couple steps forward, and as I do, I notice a few pills in his hand.

"Pony." I rush up to him the rest of the way and grab his wrist before he gets the chance to swallow them.

He balls his fist up. My heart rate climbs now that he's trying to hide it, but when I pry his fist open, I find nothing more than aspirin. I see the bottle on the counter to confirm it even further, and I feel mighty stupid. I don't know why I worried it could be something worse. He's thirteen and I know him well enough not to do anything, but paranoia got the best of me for a second. Still, it does raise the question: what the hell was he gonna take five aspirin for?

"You can't take five at the same time," I scold him.

His eyes flit away and he jerks his hand out of my grip. "I got a real bad headache," he says. "I need this many or it won't work."

I rub my forehead and wonder how long he's been doing this. "Two works just fine for me," I tell him. "And I'm bigger than you, which means you could probably get by taking just one."

He shrugs. "I always take this many."

He says it so lightly, so casually, I just lose it. "You keep taking that many and your stomach's gonna bleed!"

Everything freezes for a second.

He stares at me, wide-eyed, and I groan, realizing I've just yelled at him and loud too. Loud enough Soda and Two-Bit hear it and pop their heads in.

"What's goin' on?" Two-Bit asks.

"I was just gonna take some aspirin 'cause I have a headache, and Darry flipped out on me," Pony explains, a tinge of annoyance in his voice, but if you look close enough, you can tell he's spooked I yelled at him.

"He was gonna take _five_ aspirin," I say, which changes up his story a great deal and gives me plenty reason to reprimand him.

I turn to him. "I ain't makin' that up, kid … About your stomach bleeding an' all," I add, forcing my voice down a couple registers. I don't want to scare the crap out of him, but he really _shouldn't_ be doing this. "C'mon, it's dangerous."

Pony says nothing. He just stares same way he always does when wishes I'd stop talking.

Two-Bit steps forward and loops an arm around him. "Say, Pony, I think you an' me should go have a little talk." He winks at me as he leads Pony out of the kitchen.

I feel like stopping him. I should be giving Pony this talk, not him.

"What's that about?" Soda asks, giving me a suspicious glance.

"Two-Bit volunteered to help with things... even if it meant giving Pony a lecture," I say with a sigh. Somehow it doesn't seem as funny now that it actually happened.

"Really?"

I point in the direction where Two-Bit and Pony left. "What does it look like?"

Not even a second later we hear Pony laugh. Whatever this is it can't be all that serious of a lecture...

"Hey, you shouldn't yell at Pony like that, Darry."

Thanks, Soda, _just _what I need to hear right now, but I nod and keep my annoyance to myself. It strikes one hell of a nerve to hear him say it, especially when I hadn't meant to and I caught myself before it got too out of control, but he's right. I shouldn't, and I'll try not to.

He must pick up on my frustration since he changes the subject not even a second later. "So is Two-Bit really gonna find you a date?"

"I honestly have no clue what the hell he plans on doin' or if I'm even gonna agree to go." Honest, I probably won't. I can find my own damn date if I want one bad enough.

"You should," Soda insists. "C'mon, it could be fun."

"_Or _Two-Bit could hook me up with another Linda..."

Soda smirks; he knows who I'm talking about right away.

Linda was my first date ever, and she was all kinds of whiny and awful. Nothing was good enough for her, except me. I apparently was, being on the football team and all. I guess that made you some kind of celebrity in your high school, but I never realized how popular I was until somebody pointed it out of me.

"Hey, you never know," Soda says. "She could be another Vivian."

I balk at that.

That would too convenient. Vivian was the girl I went steady with in high school, and if I ever saw her, we might still be friends. She was in college now. Somewhere in Texas—I forgot the university's name—but here I was still in Tulsa, no college to speak of. Our paths certainly diverged after high school.

"Think Two-Bit's actually gonna say something valuable to Pony?" Soda asks, changing the subject again. Glory, he's notorious for changing the subject multiple times in the same conversation, but I welcome this one. I'd rather not talk about all the girls I dated.

"I dunno," I tell him. "Guess we'll have to wait and see."

xxxx

"Well, my work here is done," Two-Bit declares when he reemerges with Pony. "You brother's gonna take no more than three aspirin at a time for the rest of his life now, right, Pony?"

I lift an eyebrow. One or two would've been a better number to push, Two-Bit... Apparently somebody pops three aspirin when he's hungover.

He elbows Pony who elbows him back and smirks. "Yeah, Sorry, Darry."

Two-Bit looks so smug, I can't resist the urge to say something smart. "Well, that was mighty impressive, Two-Bit. How on earth did you do it?"

"Oh, I only beat the tar outa him of course." He ruffles Pony's hair.

"It was horrible," Pony plays along. "Just horrible."

"Sounded more like you was laughing," Soda says, nudging Pony's arm.

"Well, I'm outa here," Two-Bit announces. "Gonna go see if little miss Kathy's waiting for me at the Dingo like she said she would."

He winks at us and heads toward the door. "Oh, and don't you worry, Darry. I'll find you that date."

"Yeah, about that," I call after him. "Don't even bother. I'll find my own, thanks."

"Oh, you kill me every time, Darry... I'll get ya a date."

The look on his face tells there's no way I'll change his mind, and I sigh.

When Two-Bit's officially gone, Pony looks at me with a big grin.

"What?" I ask him, even though I'm pretty damn sure he's gonna tease me too.

"Two-Bit's gonna get you a date?" he asks.

My eyes nearly rock into the back of my brain, I'm so sick of hearing this.

I say nothing, so Soda answers for me. "Oh yeah, it's gonna be great."

I give them both dirty looks. Everyone is too amused for their own damn good, and of course they tease me about it until I make them go to bed.

* * *

I can't thank you guys enough for the many reviews. I'm not so sure I deserve this many, but boy, do I ever appreciate it! I think other authors will agree when I say they're the best motivators ever. :) Thanks again. Hope you enjoyed the update!


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns.

AN: Sorry it took me a little longer than usual to put this one out. I have many future chapters of this story written, but I did some major time jumps and in order to keep the steady pace you guys seem to enjoy, I've decided to write a few in the middle, going off some of the tiny details the book provides (e.g. Pony taking five aspirin). And then amidst writing these middle chapters, I decided to start a Supernatural fic... Still, five days isn't too awful, is it? Ah, hope not. :) I'll try for two updates a week for the rest of summer. Maybe a few more when I can manage. You guys are such awesome reviewers, I want to reward you somehow!

I can't remember if I replied to reviews this time. I like to when I can, but if I forget, thank you ALL! Your thoughts are so encouraging!

* * *

For the next several days, I keep thinking about at incident. At work. At home. It doesn't matter. I think about Pony and how he almost swallowed five aspirin in front of me.

I line up a nail and tell myself not to think. I've been doing this all week, and it ain't helping anything, but I can't shut my mind off. I can't stop being vigilant.

I hate to doubt my brother or Two-Bit's supposed lecturing skills, but ever since, I count all the pills in the aspirin bottle each night. One night two went missing. No big deal. Another three. Slightly more alarming, but perhaps that was Two-Bit's doing. Still another, four, and that was it. After that, I hid the bottle. If he needs any, he'll have to ask where I put it, and that way I can hopefully control how many he takes. I really oughta have another chat with him, but I don't know what to say yet, so I resorted to hiding the bottle.

It still aggravates me when I think about it, and I think about it way too much. I should be concentrating on a simple tasks at my job, but instead of think of Ponyboy.

Mostly I wonder how long he's been doing this. Did it start before Mom and Dad died? After? When he started having these nightmares? I don't know, and it kills me that I don't know. I should be observant enough _to_ know even if he says nothing to me. That's my duty now. I have to be on top of everything and know subconsciously the things they don't want me to know the same my mother knew if one of us was up to trouble. It was incredibly, really; not much went past her, and if it did, you were so floored it did, you debated telling her.

I think of her and this aspirin deal and wonder if she would've known and what she'd have thought if she did. It's awful dangerous, damn it. He'll have stomach ulcers in a matter of months if he keeps it up, and now that he knows that—I did tell him so, didn't I?—what the hell's he thinking _still _trying to sneak some? He isn't thinking. That's the problem. Just like when he and Curly Shepard tried to burn each other's fingers off, not a single ounce of forethought goes into it.

I get it too. That's the worst part. Once upon a time, I was thirteen too—hard for me to believe it now, but I was—and boy, did I do some mighty stupid things. Gave our poor mother a heart attack almost as many times as Soda when I was in my teens, and Pony may never top my stupidest endeavor: hot-wiring a car with a good buddy of mine. I still remember the car perfectly—a brand new Pontiac Tempest. I didn't do the actual deed, but I went along for the ride, and though it made me uncomfortable, I said nothing to stop him. I said nothing because, same way Pony probably is now, I wanted him to think I was cool. Now, looking back on it, I was awfully stupid, even if I had fun. By some miracle we didn't get caught, but three weeks later, I couldn't stand my guilty conscience anymore and confessed what I did to my parents. The look on Mom's face is still clear in my memory. She must've lectured me for a solid ten minutes straight, and then she blamed Dad's gene pool for giving her boys a wild streak.

When she stormed away, Dad smirked—I could tell he wanted to be mad, but was more amused—and said the four words he loved to say when one of us was in trouble: "Listen to your mother."

We always hoped he'd step up and do the lecturing; you always hoped he'd be the one to catch you or the one who picked up the phone when your teacher called. I think it worked the other way around in most families, but it ours, it was always, "Just wait until your mother hears about this." And those eight words were damn scary, but the scariest thing about it was she didn't really yell. We might've said she yelled, but there was no screaming involved, just her firm, "I mean business" tone. Dallas told us himself it was scarier than getting yelled at because you had to listen to it. You could try to tune her out, but the words somehow always penetrated your skull. No matter what, you listened.

She banked off guilt and that every loathed "I'm disappointed in you" phrase. It worked. Not just well, ridiculously well. Even Dally couldn't stand strong against it, and now I find myself trying to imitate her style whenever I talk to Pony, but it doesn't work. I can say the same things verbatim, but it never has the same effect.

Whenever I try the guilt tactics, he thinks I'm insulting him apparently, and the only thing I wind up is frustrated, damn frustrated I have no clue how to get through to him. I have moments of almost getting there. When we talk about things normally, we usually work our way through it just fine, but whenever he's in trouble, it's like he disconnects before I even open my mouth. How the hell do you counteract that? All I want is a chance, and when he doesn't give me that, it's hard not to take it personal sometimes.

I really shouldn't. He's always been sensitive like this. When he was real little, one of Mom's "looks" shut him right up. Soda and I usually needed some kind of other intervention before we listened as quickly, so maybe that's it. Maybe she never had to lecture him the same way she did me and Soda, so he's still not used to hearing it from anybody, let alone his cool big brother. He probably resents me for being in charge even though he knows I have to be, and me? Well, I still resent that I can't be the cool big brother.

I think about it all the damn time. It must be the redundant of all my thoughts, though lately, all my thoughts seem redundant, but I don't know how to stop it. I don't know how to stop this racing inner conversation I constantly have with myself, and it ends up the reason I can't sleep at night. How do you sleep when you can't shut off your thoughts?

I don't know. I know a lot less than I want to know. All I know is right now I wanna talk to Pony about discovering he's still sneaking aspirin, but I wanna be able to craft my words so well, I know he'll actually stop.

I can't put it off though. That ain't responsible, especially when it has the possibility to be very dangerous, so I vow today when I get off work and when he gets home from school, we're having this talk.

I don't care how awkward it is. It has to happen.

I pick up another nail and realize I'm behind. All my coworkers have accomplished more in the past ten minutes than I have in thirty. I silently curse myself and speed up the process as fast as I possibly can. If I don't pull my act together soon, I'll likely get canned.

_Pick up a nail, hammer it in. Repeat. Make sure you line the shingle just right._ I bark these orders to myself to stay focused, and it's how I make it through the rest of the work day. I should try this technique more often, but it's even more work than just letting myself think naturally.

xxxx

When I get home, Pony's working on his homework in front of the TV. Little by little I've let all of Mom's minor rules go. We can eat in the living room, put our feet on the table, eat with our hands, and eat cake for breakfast. And now, Pony can do his homework somewhere besides the kitchen table or his bedroom desk. Mom sure had a lot of rules like that, and sometimes I think I should go back to enforcing them. Would he take me more seriously then?

"How was work?" Pony asks when he notices me.

I pull off my work boots and tool belt and try to think of how to answer him. First, I'm flattered, almost relieved, he's thought to ask, but now I don't know what to say to him. "Tiring, but not bad," I tell him, figuring it's a good enough answer as any. "How was school?"

"Good." Unlike a few days ago, I believe him when he says it this time. He doesn't have that ominous look on his face today.

I sit down in the armchair next to the couch and rub my forehead for a second. So much for vowing I would do this today. There's absolutely no tension right now, and doing this could cause plenty, but I take a deep breath and tell myself it has to happen.

"Hey, Pony, I wanna talk to you about something."

My tone is completely calm and even, but still he instantly goes from relaxed to anxious. "About what?" he asks.

"I've been counting the number of pills in the aspirin bottle," I explain, and his expression grows more anxious. "And it would seem more go missing than they should. You know anything about that?"

He shakes his head, and I regret my choice of words. Here I was, trying not to be accusing, but little did I know, I just gave him the opportunity to lie.

"Pony, I haven't seen Soda take an aspirin in years," I go on, "and I know I haven't had any, so all that leaves is you."

He grimaces and fiddles with the pencil in his hands.

"Pony," I press when he remains silent.

"I can't sleep if I don't take some," he says. "And one or two doesn't work for me Darry. I need more."

He can't sleep if he doesn't... Those words make me want to wring that doctor's neck for telling me he's just fine. Clearly we've got problems if thinks he needs to do this just to sleep.

"Anything more than a couple is dangerous," I insist, making my tone extra firm in hopes he listens up. "I told you you'd make your stomach bleed, and I ain't lying about that. If you're getting headaches, well, we'll just have to figure out what's causing them."

He fiddles with the pencil more, accidentally dropping it.

I pick it up and hand it to him. He looks at me funny as he takes it. Before I get the chance to mutter another word to him, Soda walks in.

He takes a seat next to Pony, so he's sitting between us and sighs. "Something happen?"

I sigh, wondering how the hell he can_ always_ tell that.

Pony and I stay silent, and he bumps both our shoulders good-naturedly. "Some greeting this is," he adds. "Thanks, you two."

"I was talking to Pony about taking multiple aspirin at the same time," I spit out.

Soda immediately turns to Pony. "Why're you doin' that? You're not sick or anything, are ya?"

Pony shrugs. "I get real bad headaches."

Soda slings an arm around his shoulder. "Yeah, I'll bet, but just take one, okay? Looks like you're giving Darry a heart attack here."

Pony nods, and once again he listens to Soda right away.

I groan inwardly and tell myself not to get pissed about this, but sometimes, it just happens. I get up and leave Soda to finish the lecture that should've been my responsibility.

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Reviews make me a happy, happy girl. :)

P.S. The next chapter is much longer, I promise, and for those curious, yes, we WILL get to see Darry's date. I couldn't resist. ;)


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns.

AN: And here's the awkward moment where I apologize for my previous AN where I said I'd be updating twice a week. Ummmm, it ended up being nearly two weeks. :( Life got in the way of writing for a bit, and unlike my Steve sister stories, this chapter wasn't written yet. I will do my best to update soon. I won't promise anything in case it does happen again, but I can promise I'll try!

Also, I know I've been a bad PMer/review replier these past few weeks. Sigh... I'm going to try to catch up with this chapter, and I plan to check my inbox later tonight to see what I missed. :)

_**Warning**_: Personally I don't think the chapter goes above a T-rating, but I feel the need to say something … It is definitely T-rated. Nothing too graphic, but still, once again, _T-rated._

* * *

I get off work the next day to find Two-Bit on my couch with a smug grin across his lips. That kind of grin is scary. Whenever Soda flashes it, it means he's done something worthy of making Mom scream, and whenever Two-Bit flashes it, it means nearly the same damn thing.

When he notices me, he kicks his feet up on our coffee table and folds his hands behind his head. "Guess what, Darry?"

I don't have to guess. The look on his face says it all: he found me a date, but I ask anyway just to humor him. "What?"

"Tomorrow night, don't make any plans." He holds up a hand and shakes a finger at me. "I can see those wheels in your head turning. Yes, it's official. No, you may not back out."

It had to be my Friday, huh? Friday is my night to recover from the week, and sometimes I don't even get the time to recover because I have to work a Saturday. "Official, huh?"

"You bet your ass it's official."

I should be glad and not frustrated, but I never asked for this. I even _told_ him not to, but he just had to go and do it, here I am now. I can't say I didn't expect it. Still, it's mighty tempting to wring his neck. Two-Bit is one to those people who doesn't know when to stop; he was that annoying kid who didn't understand the word no, and now look at him. He hasn't changed a bit.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and let out a sigh. I'm overreacting. He's doing this to show he does care about me, and what better way than try and enhance my love life? Well, that'd certainly be his style. I can only imagine the kind of girl he's hooked me up with. "What's her name?" I ask.

I'm not getting out of this, so I might as well learn a thing or two before the big night. A name's a start. Maybe I can ask what she's like and pray Two-Bit found me a nice girl I could settle dating again.

"It's my cousin Maureen," he tells me proudly.

Ah shit... No, _never _go out with one of your friend's family members. That's a rule, and a damn good one at that. I'd learned that lesson a long time ago. It makes things awkward if it doesn't work out... "I'm goin' on a date with your cousin? Is she even my age?"

"Relax, of course she's your age," he says, not even batting an eye. "But if you make her cry, man … well, then it's a little personal. I'd have to kick your ass. See, I trust you, Darry. You're a real gentleman. You know how to treat a lady."

I shake my head and plop down into the armchair. And that's _exactly_ why I should not go on a date with his cousin. "Of all the girls you could've found me, you had to pick your cousin?"

He sits up a bit straighter and cracks his knuckles. I can't tell if this is for show or if he's actually pissed. "You sayin' there's something wrong with my cousin?"

"No, but haven't you ever heard that rule you don't date somebody in your friend's family? I mean, c'mon, Two-Bit..."

"Hmm, let's see here..." He scratches his chin. "Nope, never heard of it."

"So your cousin then... what's she like?"

"Well, she's a Mathews, so you know right off the bat, you got a wild girl on your hands." He winks. "I think you'll like her though. She'll show you a good time. Don't you worry. It's gonna be a fine night for you."

That's hardly comforting. Last thing I need is to date Two-Bit in girl form. "How pissed to you think she'd be if I backed out?"

He clears his throat and gives me a look. "How pissed do you think I'll be?"

"Well, can you blame me, man? I didn't exactly ask you to do this..."

"See, that's the beauty of a good friend, Darry." He stands up and pats my shoulder roughly. "You don't have to ask."

He inches towards our kitchen, probably in search of cake, and I rub the back of my neck. What in the hell have I gotten myself into?

xxxx

The next day at work, I stress over the date. It's been too long since I've been on one of these... I went on my fair shame in high school, but I worry I've since lost my charm. For starts, I can't remember what made me attractive in the first place. I played football, sure, so that's probably it, but why me over all the other members?

I was the quiet guy despite getting voted captain my Senior year. Mom said we all got Dad's good looks, but what mother doesn't call her sons handsome... It's still lost on me why I was popular.

"I expect a young man like you's got plans for a Friday night?" Jerry lifts an eyebrow at me. He says this every Friday, and every Friday, I tell him the same thing: that I'm gonna go home, kick my feet up, and make sure my brothers are staying out of trouble, but this time he's about to get a different answer.

"Actually I got a date tonight," I tell him. I can't help but grin.

He whistles and claps a hand to my back. "Just like your daddy, you are."

I ain't sure about that, but I thank him anyway I always thought Mom and I had more in common, but for the first time in a long time it feels good to be compared to my father.

It feels really good.

xxxx

"So Darry, think you're gonna get any action tonight?"

I flip around and shoot Soda one heck of a glare. "What the hell do you need to know that for, little buddy?"

He, Pony, and Steve all start laughing, and I swear on all that's holy I'll smash all three of their heads together if they make one more comment about the date tonight.

"I think we all unanimously agree you need to get laid, Superman," Steve says with an awful smirk.

I give him a light shove, and he returns it just as fast. "See? This anger right here... There's only one cure."

I smack him this time, but that just makes their laughter explode.

I rub my temples and sigh. "I still don't see what's so damn funny about me goin' on a date, and it's Two-Bit's cousin, so _no_, I'm not gonna ..." I trail off and stop myself. If it feels awkward discussing sex around Steve and Soda, there's no way I want to discuss it around Pony. "You know."

"If it's the cousin I have in mind, you're one lucky man," Steve tells me.

I want to bang my head against the wall and then throttle Two-Bit. He should've set Dallas up with this gal, not me.

xxxx

I arrive ten minutes early to where Two-Bit said she'd meet me outside The Dingo. My hair's slicked back, and I got a nice shirt and slacks on. I even made sure I shaved and put on cologne so I'd smell decent. That all worked just fine in high school, so I don't see why it can't now...

When a petite lady approaches me, I know it's her from the red hair and smile. You can see a small amount of Two-Bit in her from those alone; I guess they must be the signature family traits.

She looks stunning too. She has a cute little dress on—short hemmed, but tasteful enough it isn't alarming. The neckline doesn't dip too low either, just enough to let you know she's got the right stuff. I like that. I was worried about what I was gonna get when get when Two-Bit said she was wild.

"Hey, I'm Darrel," I say casually, careful not to let her on to how nervous I am. I use my real name too, even if Darry is what I go by now. Darry doesn't seem sophisticated enough for a date.

"Keith's told me quite a bit about you." She smiles again, and my heart rate rises.

It's a great smile

She starts walking towards the entrance. I take a deep breath and follow her in.

Here we go... Hopefully I still got it.

xxxx

We order a couple burgers and make small talk. She tells me she's attending the university here. It shocks me at first, but then I remember Two-Bit does have a couple rich relatives. And I must admit it's comforting to know she's got goals for her life, even if I feel a bit self-conscious I have to tell her I'm not in college and only a humble roofer.

She knows exactly what to say though; when she tells me what I'm doing for my brothers is admirable, I can't help but blush. It's nice to hear someone my age say it. Sometimes I get funny looks from people. They wonder why I could possibly want to do this when I'm so young.

The small talk lasts for a while, but we eventually run out of things to talk about. "Sorry," I apologize after an awkward silence. "I know I'm not much of a conversationalist..."

"Oh, you're fine," she assures me. "If we run out of things to say, I'll just tell you a bunch of embarrassing stories about Keith... Trust me, there's a lot of them."

It's weird to hear her call him Keith, but I can imagine not all of his relatives see the point in calling him Two-Bit. His mother started doing it out of necessity since he wouldn't reply to anything else, but when she talked to other people about him, she still used his real first name.

Somehow that breaks the ice again. In fact, she doesn't even have to tell me stories. I relax that she's this easy to talk to and get over my stupid fears. Back in high school, I was the lady's choice, not Soda, and it feels damn good to reclaim my title.

xxxx

We talk a long time, well after we finish our food, well after the time I expected this date to end. It's eleven now, and every so often, she makes moves that tell me she's interested in me, like touching my arm or rubbing her shoe against mine, and I start to get nervous again. I should be relieved, excited even, but even back in high school, it took me a while to warm up to people in _that_ way.

When we leave The Dingo, she hooks her arm in mine. I don't stop her, and when we reach my truck, I open the passenger door for her and help her unto the seat. It's a bit of a reach if you're short like she is. She can't be more than five feet, but everything else about her makes her look anything but young.

I take notice of that. For being petite, she still has plenty of curves. I try not to stare. It's the first date and I don't want to be impolite, so I promptly shut the door and get in the driver's seat.

"Sorry, I don't have much for a set of wheels..." The truck's old. I did my best to clean it out before the date, but there's permanent dirt for from the hunting trips Dad took us on.

"C'mon now, what're you apologizin' for?" she dismisses it immediately. "You got a car to drive. That's what's important, right?"

"Yeah, I guess you're right." I grin and put the truck in drive. "So where to next?"

"I'll show you."

xxxx

"This is perfect," she says. "We can see the stars from here."

We get out of the truck and lean against the hood. It's a clear night. She points out several constellations, tells me she's interested in space, and I just listen to her talk. She's got a nice voice for one, and if the girl's talkative, it doesn't hurt to just listen and nod. Maybe I overestimate the powers of this important skill, but it's worked out alright for me so far.

You can only bank on it for so long though. It's been a while since I've said something, and I don't want to give her the illusion I don't care about what she's saying. I try to think of something, but when she leans against me, it breaks up my thoughts. It catches me off-guard, but I can't complain. It's a miracle she isn't shy or we'd have gotten nowhere tonight.

"Whenever you want me to take you home, I can." I figure I should offer. Glory, it has to be past midnight by now...

"Okay," she says and leads me back to the car.

I assume this means she wants me to drive her home now. She walked to The Dingo, but I'd feel like a real asshole if I made her walk from where we are now.

She gives me directions again, and it seems like we meander all through Tulsa. When she finally tells me to stop, we're nowhere near an apartment building, so I know this isn't where she lives.

I open my mouth to say something, but then she's leaning over to kiss me, and I realize she gave me phoney directions on purpose. I kiss her back. What guy in their right mind would refuse this? Still, I feel guilty after a while. This is the first date. She's Two-Bit's cousin. I hardly know her. Red flags are popping up all over the place telling me to stop before we go too far, but she each time I try to pull away, she goes for more.

She's a good kisser. Better than me. I like where this is headed. I like it too much and make a stronger effort to put an end to it. Hell, if I wouldn't love to … you know, but not tonight. Not on the first date, but she keeps pulling me back, and her hands go to places I don't—_do_—want them to go.

Oh God, help me... The thrill of the moment almost gets the best of me, but I get ahold of myself, if only for a second. "I don't have protection," I tell her and hope that leads to a no. If there's one thing I know, it's you respect that word. That was one thing Dad ingrained in us boys when he gave us the sex talk, and he's right. It even works out better for you in the end; the slight disappointment at the time will pay off later once you've gained her trust.

Jesus, Maureen, please say no... Then I'll be able to walk away from this before I do something hasty and stupid. I can even take pride in the fact I was a gentleman about it, and Lord knows, the last thing either of us needs is a baby on our hands... _especially me. _

Much to my surprise, she fishes through her purse and hands me a condom with an inviting smirk across her lips. I've never _once _dated a girl who came prepared like this. Two-Bit really wasn't lying when he said she was wild... Here, I thought she was this innocent university student, but all those passes she was making at me should've told me she wanted this hours ago.

She cuts off my thoughts by kissing me again. Glory, it feels right, and I know for sure the only word on her mind is _yes. _That's when I realize I'm done for. This is wrong. Sleeping with somebody on the first date? I never thought I would... Never in a million years, but it happens.

With Two-Bit's cousin, no less.

* * *

And Darry gets some action! Sorry, I couldn't resist...

Thanks for reading, and as always for reviewing the story! Your comments are always such a joy to read and greatly appreciated. I welcome all and any input. :)


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